


Lost but now I am found

by AllMyKindsOfThings



Category: Collateral (TV 2018), Happy Valley (TV)
Genre: Catherine's past is shit, F/F, I tried my best, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Suicide, Slow Burn, bisexual police woman, lesbian vicar, mentions or violence, that's basically that, vicar kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-01-07 08:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18407177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllMyKindsOfThings/pseuds/AllMyKindsOfThings
Summary: Catherine has been through a lot in her life. Too much, some might say. When the doctors decide to keep Ryan under observation after Royce doused him with petrol, Catherine is on the verge of breaking point. Jane is the new vicar appointed at Heptonstall. At the hospital, she sees a woman crying silently in a hallway. She sits next to her and waits. Two women who should never have met are brought together by chance or by a higher power. What could possibly happen...





	1. Hold the weak in Your arms of love

**Author's Note:**

> Story is set a few minutes before the end of Happy Valley S01 (after Royce is taken to hospital - before Catherine talks with Daniel) and well after the end of Collateral.
> 
> Thank you, KatieDingo, for your precious time and wonderful advice! None of this would have been possible without you!

“ _I feel occasionally my skull will crack, fatigue is continuous - I only go from less exhausted to more exhausted & back again._”    
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

No. There’s no way  Catherine Cawood, Sergeant at the  Norland Road Nick, 47, tough  cookie, is going to make it home right now. No way she’ll make it there without falling, no way she’ll make it there without breaking. She had hoped she could at least make it to her car, but that was just wishful thinking. To hell with the privacy the vehicle could afford her. This is a hospital; people break down and cry here all the time. She’ll fit right in. 

It’s just been too much, not even counting her own injuries from barely two months ago, when she walked this same hospital but in a different wing. The high-level stress she felt when she realised Ryan was with his father, and yes, she was using the word loosely; that level of adrenaline which raised her from Becky’s graveside and made her race to find Ryan had come crashing down. Hard. And everything was coming back. Hard. The terrified look in Ryan’s eyes, the smell of fumes in the narrowboat, Ryan’s screams, her own hatred for Royce, the way the shithead begged her to kill him. All she’d wanted for the last 9 years was to see him dead, so it was out of sheer spite that she refused to kill him as he wanted. Part of her felt relief when the constable pulled her off him, still kicking at him as she was dragged out. The happiness was overwhelming when she could finally hug Ryan, petrol-soaked but safe in her arms _. _

The only thing that kept her from collapsing was that she just couldn’t afford to break down. Not until Ryan was safe. 

And now, in this almost empty hallway, somewhere between the paediatric wing and the parking lot, she sat, elbows on her knees, head in her hands, sobbing like a child. There is no wailing and loud cries; her tears are silent. She’s as silent as when the darkness takes hold of her at night in the quiet safety of her bedroom. She’s so tired. Exhausted all through her bones. Some days, she wishes she could just vanish. Not kill herself; never kill herself. Just vanish. Let the world forget she was ever here. And then, she sees Ryan. She sees Becky in him. And that’s the only thing that makes her go a little further.

Catherine doesn’t even register the woman quietly sitting next to her right away. Jane Oliver, newly appointed vicar, had been on her way out when she spotted the blonde woman in her big greenish jacket, crying silently. Just finished her last pastoral care appointment for the day, Jane has the rest of her afternoon free. And she is not the type to walk past someone in need, whether it be of religious advice or just a shoulder to cry on. So she does what she does best; she sits quietly next to the woman, and waits for a clue to find what the woman truly needs. 

It takes the blonde a good two minutes to notice the presence next to her. She lifts her head from her hands and turns to gaze to the vicar. Catherine looks utterly distraught. Jane sees her eyes darting to her dog collar, then roll back in their orbits and the blonde’s head falls back into the cradle of her hands. The sobbing, however, stops.

Jane grins, mirthless, to herself but remains in the same relaxed position; knees comfortably spread, hands clasped on her lap, her head resting against the wall behind her, eyes slightly closed.

Another long minute has passed when she notices the breathing of the blonde has calmed down. Then Jane hears her take a deep steadying breath and watches her sit up in the seat, almost matching Jane’s position. The only difference is that the blonde is sniffing and desperately trying to dry her reddened face. Silently, Jane rummages through her purse and produces a tissue.

“Thanks,” the blonde says, her voice hoarse. Jane finally notices the uniform under the doona jacket; a police officer.

“You’re welcome,” she simply answers, as neutral as possible. 

The last thing Catherine needs right now is a priest coming up with the usual stereotypical bullshit they served when Becky killed herself; when she dared to try and find comfort in a higher power. That was the day she lost the little faith she had left. But the woman next to her hasn’t even uttered a single religious comment. She just sits there, silently. And oddly, her presence has a calming effect on Catherine. Still, she waits for the expected but unwanted advice.

“Right…I should go,” the sergeant says. But she makes no attempt to stand up. Jane gives her a couple of seconds before reacting, waiting to see if movement will follow the statement.

“You look like you could use a conversation over a cuppa,” she replies.  _ Ah, here comes the sermon _ , Catherine thinks, already on the defensive.

“I really don’t need a sermon right now,  _ Vicar _ . In fact, your boss is the last thing I want to talk about.” Catherine spits out the title with such venom she surprises herself. She didn’t mean for it to come out as harshly as it did. And she is bewildered when she doesn’t see any irritation on the priest’s face. On the contrary, Jane is smiling kindly.

“I’m off the clock,” Jane offers as she pulls the white piece of plastic out of the collar of her shirt. 

Catherine snorts.  _ As if _ , she thinks. But somehow the gesture is appreciated. The blonde takes another deep breath and slouches back a little.

“What brought you here?” she inquires, the police sergeant taking over for a second, then vanishing just as quickly. She is too tired to pretend.

“Pastoral care…I have an elderly couple here who needed some company,” Jane returns, smiling at the memory with affection. “You?”

“Grandson…” Catherine states simply, almost blankly. Afraid she’ll burst into tears again.

“Congratulations?” Jane asks softly, knowing by the police woman’s body language that something is wrong. However, she doesn’t press with questions and this is the only way she can leave the door opened for Catherine to cross it, or close it.

“Oh no, he’s eight. His fucking shitbag rapist of a…father threw petrol on him,” the disgust in Catherine’s voice as clear as day. The only way she could have highlighted her disgust more would have been to spit at the mere mention of the prick. “Ryan has chemical burns. Nothing life threatening but since he might have ingested some, the doctors prefered to keep him under observation. That, and it gives them the opportunity to treat his skin properly too.” Jane is astonished; this is the most the blonde woman has spoken so far. 

“Oh,” is the only thing she can reply. 

“Yeah,” Catherine counters. She is puzzled as to why she hasn’t been scolded for her colourful vocabulary. She remembers when she talked like that about Royce to the priest a while ago, he had reprimanded her, reminding her that even the sinners were god’s children. She had hated that priest almost as much as she hated Royce. That’s when she swore to never enter a church again. 

“My offer for a cuppa still stands. I can listen. Or just sit with you.” Jane pulls Catherine out of her thoughts. She looks at Jane, smiles amiably and shakes her head.

“No, thanks Rev. I really need to go. I reek of petrol,” Catherine replies politely as she gets up, the venom suddenly gone from the title. The sergeant is utterly baffled by the vicar. She starts to walk away shaking her head in disbelief. Then, having a second thought, she turns around and takes the few steps back to the brunette. She stops in front of Jane and offers her hand.

“I’m Catherine. Thank you for…uhm…just…thank you.” Catherine doesn’t know what to thank her for. Her silent comfort? The tissue? The fact that she took the time to speak with a complete stranger? The offer of more compassion? In fact, in a way she knows exactly what she’s thankful for, but in her tiredness she’s unable to formulate it.

“Jane,” she says, taking the hand in front of her to shake it gently. Somehow, Jane was expecting something harsher, in the image of the woman in front of her, but the skin is soft and the grip not tight. “As I said, you’re welcome.” She smiles earnestly. 

Catherine, as if under a spell, holds her hand a second longer. She feels the reassuring and gentle squeeze. She smiles weakly back in return. “Right,” Catherine says, breaking the moment. She turns and walks away. 

Later, Catherine will think about the stranger who showed her so much kindness, wondering where she might find her, knowing she could use that oddly comforting presence again. She will scold herself for not asking for more information, like a name, or a phone number maybe. Later. For now, she just feels like her batteries have been refilled enough to get through the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Amazing Grace or Born to die (pick your poison)
> 
> Chapter titles will each be from a prayer. This one is For those in pain  
> Lord God, whose Son, Jesus Christ, understood people's fear and pain before they spoke of them, we pray for those in hospital;  
> surround the frightened with your tenderness;  
> give strength to those in pain;  
> hold the weak in your arms of love, and give hope and patience to those who are recovering;  
> we ask this through the same Jesus Christ, our Lord.  
> Amen.  
> https://www.churchofengland.org/prayer-and-worship/topical-prayers/prayers-personal-situations
> 
> Please note that I was raised catholic. I know very little of the practice in the Church of England, let alone its vicars. My knowledge comes from good ol' Wiki and the memories of my betareader. I do not mean to offend. If something is bothering you, I'm interested to talk to you about it.
> 
> Also, being from Belgium, my knowledge of UK police starts with television and stops at some reading on wikipedia. Again, sorry, I do not mean to offend.
> 
> Let me know what you think :D


	2. Our eyes, Lord, are wasted with grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know Happy Valley, this chapter contains Catherine explaining her past (some of it) so mentions of violence and abuse. Nothing graphic, it's just mentions.

“ _I talk to God but the sky is empty._ ” ― Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

**One month ago**

"I can’t do this anymore, Rufus!” Jane almost screams at him, her voice vibrating with emotion. The Bishop had asked her to make a choice a couple months earlier. Of course he hadn’t phrased it like that but the idea was the same; her own happiness or her job. And back then, she really thought she could beat the system that had thrown her on the ropes; be with Linh on the down low, and be the good priest she knows she is. In other words, she needed to make everybody happy. Along the way, she had forgotten to include herself in “everybody”.

Things with Linh went from good to passable to just absent. In hindsight, Jane knew the countdown on the clock had started the moment Linh had stepped out of Jane’s home office, the day she told her about the choice forced upon her. If she was honest with herself, she knew from day one they had an expiration date. There weren’t any yelling or accusations. Nobody sobbed in that ugly manner seen on television. Linh came for tea one day, told Jane she was going back to Vietnam and would apply for citizenship in the legal manner. She thanked her for all Jane had done for her. Jane wished her good luck. And that was basically it.

That was two months ago. And without fully realising it, Jane slowly became angry and sad. And bitter. The life of the parish suffered. She was having more and more difficulty dealing with people. That’s the reason Rufus came back.

“I know, Jane. I can’t… I can’t take back what I told you, the choice I had you make. I’m sorry about that on a personal level. I consider you a friend, and it hurt me to have to talk to you like that, to pretend I wasn’t hurting you.” He lets his words sink in. Jane knows he had to. The image of the Church isn’t exactly squeeky clean and he can’t afford scandals in such a visible parish. “I thought you might be interested in...well I have a few parishes over England that might...they could use your talent, Jane. They’re not small, but they’re not big either. They’re quiet and hidden from the public eye. There, the Church would be able to turn a blind eye if you ever...you know...find someone...” He lets the sentence finish itself.

“You’re sending me away?! That’s your fucking answer? You’re punishing me because I had a relationship with a woman and everybody knew! That’s low, Rufus. Even for you.” Jane stands up from the bench on which she was facing Rufus, angrily. She turns her back to him and gazes out the window, her thoughts already playing with the idea. She knows her relationship itself wasn’t the center of the matter. But that was the only part she had control of, somehow. She couldn’t control Linh’s immigration situation, her drug addiction or her social life. But the fact that Jane preferred the company of women, that was hers, and hers alone. She wraps her arms around herself in an attempt of comfort. Useless, as usual.

“No! NO! it’s not a punishment at all! You are suffering, Jane. I can see that. I hear it too. I’ve received letters from members of your parish; they’re really worried about you. You need a break. I thought maybe something in the country would do you good. Look, I’ll leave the list of the parishes on the table, the ones that need a new vicar,” he says gently. She shrugs, not bothering to turn back.

“Right. Jane. I’m not in a habit of doing this. I could be sacked for giving you this list and telling you, but you have first pick of anywhere, ANYWHERE, on this list. Yes, it’s part of an apology and a way for me to make amends, but it’s also a huge favour. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. So Jane, don’t screw this up. You are incredibly talented. And you know it. You just need a change of scenery to help you get better.” He waits a minute to see if she’ll turn to see him out. Stubborn as she is, he doesn’t hold out hope.

“I’m off then. This offer; you have two days to decide. Beyond that, I’ll pick a mission myself. This is time sensitive. You’ll need to be there within the month. Goodnight, Jane,” he finishes, and leaves Jane alone in her home.

When she hears the door close, Jane lets out a sob. The shock isn’t that she has to go; it’s more the apology that came with it. She hadn’t realized she needed it. She takes a deep calming breath, goes to sit back at the table and grabs the paper. She has no idea where any of those towns are. Except for one. She’s always been keen on reading Sylvia Plath. Her poetry had helped her during the dark times of her life. She takes her phone out and texts Rufus “Heptonstall, Hebden Bridge. Thank you.”

\--------

Jane’s sitting at the desk by the window giving on the street, working on her next sermon. It’s a beautiful sunny afternoon, though a bit cold for the season, and it’s almost time for tea. It’s by chance really that she notices Catherine walking up the street to the cemetery. She almost missed her face, and she would have been another blonde figure passing by except that she hasn’t been able to forget the woman. They saw each other for barely five minutes about two days ago and Jane, who hasn’t been back to the hospital since then, has been wondering if she shouldn’t just go for a walk around the paediatric wing in the hope of accidentally meeting her. She tells herself that it’s purely professional, and on many levels, it is. She is worried about Catherine, because she felt such a deep sadness emanating from her, even though she knows nothing about her. And on another level, she’s just alone here and Catherine is the first person outside her parish she talked to. God knows she could use a friend here.

So when Jane sees Catherine’s face on the little street, she takes it as a sign from God and thanks Him silently. She gets up, puts the kettle on, and takes out two of her best mugs. She even searches for two of those cozy crocheted sleeves that go around the porcelain, a parting gift from a parishioner in London. She doesn’t use them much, or rather, hasn’t had the chance yet. She stops dead in her tracks; she has no idea if Catherine takes sugar and milk in her tea. It only takes a second to find the solution. While the kettle heats up, she runs upstairs, pulls out a grey cardigan with big front pockets, big enough to hold the small bottle of milk on one side, and some sugar cubes in the other.

The kettle is calling her back to the kitchen. She chucks the teabags in the mugs, pours the boiling liquid over them, and throws in the spoons. As she walks to her front door, she sees her reflexion in a mirror and remembers Catherine’s reaction to her collar. Carefully, she sets one cup down, pulls the clerical collar out and carelessly throws it on her desk. She opens the door, picks up the mug, barely manages to close the door behind her and off she goes at a brisk but cautious pace.

When she finally enters the graveyard, she spots Catherine standing in front of a grave. Somehow, she had expected her to be sitting on a bench, enjoying the quiet of the place, as one enjoys a park. That’s what Jane likes most about this church: the beautiful graveyard is very relaxing and peaceful. But Catherine is standing in front of a grave in focused contemplation. There’s a certain sad beauty seeing the blonde like that, her hair flowing freely with the wind, her hands rooted deeply in her coat pockets. She reminds Jane of a painting but she can’t remember which one. Maybe one that hasn’t been painted yet. Jane shakes the thought away.

She walks up behind Catherine. Two rows up, and Jane knows she’ll find Sylvia Plath. As she nears the blonde woman, she begins to read the inscription; Rebecca Cawood (Becky) 1988-2006 Beloved daughter of Catherine... _oh_ , she realises. She reigns in her energy to something more appropriate and takes the final step to stand next to Catherine. And like the last time, she waits to be invited into the woman’s life and thoughts. It takes less time than at the hospital. Catherine turns her head, not even jumping at the person next to her. She smiles weakly and Jane can see the tears on her cheeks.

“I thought I’d bring you that cuppa after all. It’s not tied to a conversation.” Jane says as she hands over a still steaming mug. “However, I had no idea if you take sugar and/or milk in it so, I brought those as well.” She continues, finger pointing at her filled pockets. Catherine stares for a second and then chuckles. Almost a laugh. It’s not long, and peters out pretty much as soon as it starts, but it makes Jane smile from ear to ear.

“Milk, thank you.” Catherine says, still smiling, this time sincerely. Jane hands her the milk. “Do you always appear like the fairy godmother when someone needs you?” she asks as she pours the white liquid, clouding her tea, humour in her voice.

“Yes, it comes with the job. We have training and everything. Very serious matter. I nailed the ‘stealth walk’ class.” Jane answers in all seriousness for as long as she can manage before they both burst out into laughter. They settle into a gentle silence and Jane sees Catherine going back to her thoughts with a heavy sigh as she stares at the tombstone.

“You know I won’t ask…” Jane says softly, leaving the “ _but you can tell me if you want to_ ” hanging. Catherine nods.

“I know. That’s why the tea is still in the cup,” the blonde answers, lightness in her tone. The smile comes as she sees Jane take a side step bigger than necessary almost cartoonishly.

“Tell me about Becky?” the vicar dares. Catherine takes a deep breath.

“Your tea is too good to be wasted, Vicar. You’re safe,” the police woman responds, her head gesturing Jane to come back to her initial spot. “Becky was...she wasn’t perfect. Far from. She was my eldest and she was always hogging the attention. She was beautiful and she had a big heart! She was funny. Until…” She takes another grounding breath. “Ryan is hers. And I see her in him when the light hits him just right. I see her when he sleeps. I see her when he plays ball, watches telly or slouches on the sofa.” She stops. Jane knows it must be hard; she remembers what Catherine had said about Ryan’s father. She yearns to take her hand in comfort. But she waits, like she always does, because that’s what Catherine needs.

“He was six weeks old when we found her dead in her bedroom. I had to...I had to cut her down. It was all my fault! I couldn’t - I didn’t see! I should have seen! I’m her mother and I didn’t see!” Catherine bursts into tears, wobbling a little on her legs, making Jane reach out and hold her up with an arm around her waist. The tears don’t stop; on the contrary. It’s like a dam has broken inside Catherine. Gently, Jane slips a finger into the handle of the mug Catherine is holding, taking it from her hands, and bends slightly to let the mugs drop on the grass.

When she gets up, Jane opens her other arm, inviting Catherine in. She doesn’t exactly wait for the woman to hug her, she doesn’t exactly force the hug either. However, she feels Catherine wobbling on her legs again. And the way the blonde’s sobs shake her entire body, Jane knows she needs an anchor. The way Catherine grabs fistfuls of her clothes, she knows she was right. Gently, Jane rubs her hands up and down Catherine’s back. Silently, she waits for her to calm down. There’s no point telling her everything’s going to be fine. Nothing will ever be fine again. Jane knows this needs out.

It takes a long time before the blonde’s breathing returns to normal and the sobs subside. When Jane feels the moment is right, one hand leaves Catherine’s back to rummage the  pocket of her jeans. Awkwardly, because of the angle, she dangles a clean handkerchief in front of Catherine’s face. She hears and feels the police woman snort, before taking the offering and withdrawing from Jane’s arms as she blows her nose and dries her tears.

“I’m sorry I...thank you...Oh shit, your cardigan...I’m sorry.” Catherine babbles.

“It’s fine. Needed a wash anyway.” Jane shrugs. “Are you okay? No, stupid question. How are you?” She says, her hand squeezing the blonde’s shoulder and looking her in the eyes.

“It’s...I’m…” Catherine is puzzled at the question. She can’t answer the usual “fine”, she feels like Jane would know, would see right through the lie. And usually, nobody asks how she is and actually expects a real answer.

“The vicarage is right over there. You passed by it when you came in. If you want, I can make some fresh tea and you can get warm.” Jane offers kindly, bending to pick up the empty mugs. The blonde nods.

“Yes, yes that would be good.” She accepts. Jane smiles and sees her smile returned.

The short walk to the vicarage is mostly silent. Catherine’s mind however feels empty for the first time in a long time.

“How’s Ryan?” Jane asks suddenly. She’s been meaning to but hasn’t found the right moment until now.

“Oh he’s fine. He managed to get the nurses in his pocket already. Caught him with an extra dessert yesterday! Still no sign of intoxication and the burns...the doctor said they would look worse before getting better but with all the treatments they’re giving him, he would barely have a visible scar, probably none...to his great displeasure!” Catherine explains eagerly.

“Oh that’s nice! When is he coming home?” Jane asks, happy to hear the good news.

“They’re gonna keep him until next week. But between you and me, I think it’s more of a safety measure. They know I’d rain hell on them if anything happened to him.” The blonde smiles, proudly.

“You’re kind of a hardass, aren’t you?” the brunette comments, already knowing the answer.

“What gave it away? My oh-so approachable persona or my adorable sense of humour?” Catherine answers.

“No, the fact that you don’t take sugar in your tea.” Jane states matter-of-factly. For the second time in the afternoon a moment of silence is followed by a burst of laughter.

“Ah here we are! Welcome to my humble _chez moi_.” The brunette says, gesturing the old building. Catherine doesn’t know much about architecture but she finds the little house adorable and so fitting for Jane, from the very little she knows of her. There are plants and bushes in large pots all around and a “welcome” sign dangling on the wooden entrance door.

“Wait wait…before I come into your house, maybe I should introduce myself properly.” Catherine says, a hand on Jane’s arm as she is about to enter her house. The vicar looks at her, confused. “Well I’m basically a stranger. Don’t you want to know who you’re letting in?”

“I’ve let stranger people than you inside my house.” Jane smiles, then bends a little closer to Catherine’s face and whispers as if conspiring. “Besides, I know you, Catherine. But maybe _you’re_ afraid of getting inside a stranger’s house…” It comes off as more challenging than she meant it to. Catherine scoffs, feigning offence.

“You forget I’m a hardarse police officer, Vicar.” Jane notices it’s the second time her official title is used almost affectionately. She finds that she actually likes it.

“Oh yeah? Prove it! Do you have your badge on you?” Jane watches Catherine search her pockets and produces her wallet containing her police card. Jane takes it, contemplates the picture for a second: it looks like her but at the same time it doesn’t. She can see how tired her Catherine is. How life has hardened her features. Her eyes drift to the text on the badge.

“Sergeant, eh! Explains the hardarse-ness…” She says before entering her house, not leaving space in the conversation for an answer. “Come in, Sarge!”

Catherine smiles and shakes her head as she enters and closes the door behind her. The inside of the house is warm and cozy. There’s a desk by the window. On it, Catherine notices the small white piece of plastic that’s supposed to be around Jane’s neck. It looks like it’s been abandoned in a hurry. The sergeant smiles a little, remembering the ease with which Jane took it off at the hospital, just to make her feel more comfortable. Her eyes leave the desk and wander to a sofa flanked by two chairs facing an open fireplace. Where a television would normally be, there are books. There’s a sense of peace coming from the walls.

“I’m in the kitchen! Sit down, I’ll be just a minute!” comes from the next room. Instead of following orders, Catherine takes time to look at the book collection, expecting titles about god and vocation, or even _How to write a sermon for dummies_ . But instead she finds books about history, social movements and a couple of romantic novels according to the titles. But one volume that surprises her most: _Sylvia Plath - The Collected Poems_. Her finger caressed the back of the book absentmindedly.

“ _Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself._ ” Catherine hears from behind her and for the first time, the voice startles her. Not because it’s accusatory, but because the content is so accurate, she actually felt it. Catherine recognises the author right away, though it’s been a long time since she’s read it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump.” Jane apologises.

“ _I talk to God but the sky is empty._ ” she gives back, citing Sylvia Plath to a priest who actually cited her in the first place. No, Jane is definitely not like any other. She goes to sit on the sofa, her hands on her lap, fidgeting a little with the edge of her scarf.

“Ah. Yes. We can talk about that if you want.” Jane offers only to watch Catherine grimace. “Or you can tell me about your other children…” the brunette continues.

“You would make an excellent police woman if you ever decide to change vocation.” Catherine is honestly surprised she paid that much attention. “Child. Singular. We’ve only had Becky and Daniel. He’s about to become a dad himself. We’re not...we’ve had a bit of a falling out recently. Well not recently but...I’ve said things to him. Things I can’t even remember saying…” Catherine trails off, thinking back to the heavy discussion they had in the kitchen during her birthday party. She hates that she lies about those memories. She hates that the lie comes so easily she almost believes in it herself. She remembers. Of course she does. But she’d rather not. And it’s becoming harder to keep it up. She needs to get it off her chest. Maybe she could tell Jane. Maybe she would understand. She has been listening and never once judged. But this confession. It’s big. It’s bigger than the rest. It’s a shame she’s carried for years. Even if Catherine feel the need to confess, she doesn’t know where to start.

“What kind of things?” Jane asks softly to bring Catherine out of her head and back in the conversation.

“I...I told him he should have...I was mad with grief! I don’t - I apologised!” the blonde tries to justify herself, starting to panic, tears welling up in her eyes again. Jane comes to sit next to her, taking Catherine’s hands in hers in comfort.

“It’s okay, Catherine. What kind of things?” Jane asks again, just as softly. Closing her eyes, Catherine takes a deep breath, willing the wave of shame and panic to roll back. As she reopens her eyes, she knows she’s safe. She is awed by the compassion written all over the vicar’s face. When she starts to talk again, it’s almost as if she’s compelled to do so, just to repay for the benevolence she’s been granted.

“I told him, “Why didn’t you die?” Catherine whispers before starting to cry. “I tried to forget I said it. I tried to blame it on grief. I-I went mad! I just couldn’t cope. I lashed out at him and now I can’t even look him in the eyes and tell him, ‘ _Yes I remember I said that and  I’m sorry_ ’. I’m sorry because I shouldn’t have put you through that and I love you so much. I just - he won’t talk to me anymore. He hates me.”

“Oh come here.” Jane pulls Catherine to her, and the blonde lets her again. Since Royce almost beat the life out of her in that basement, she hadn’t let anyone hug her, or even touch her. Not really. Not that anyone would dare anyway. She had hugged Ryan. Clare had tackled her. Then, since her showdown with Royce on that stagnant barge, she had done her best to keep everybody at arms length, too sensitive and on edge all the time. But to be hugged by Jane...Catherine has no explanation for this but if anyone asked her to explain it, she’d say that it’s like you’ve been carrying that heavy suitcase for a very long time and then suddenly someone comes in and, without asking, carries it with you.

“You need to tell all this to Daniel.” Jane says when the tears have dried.

“He won’t listen.” Catherine counters weakly, almost silently.

“You have to try. He will listen eventually. And you can’t keep it inside you. I can see it’s eating you alive,” the brunette adds.

“If only that was the only thing eating me alive…” the blonde discloses, in quietly.

“Catherine, look at me.” Jane says and waits for the blue eyes to settle on hers. “I could put my dog collar back on if you want, but...this is a safe space. You can tell me anything, everything. There’s nothing you could tell me that I haven’t heard before. Nothing that would make me kick you out or judge you. Please, I know you don’t know me and you have no reason to believe this, but please...I promise you, if it helps you, you can tell me.” Jane makes sure every word and sentiment is carried out. For a minute, she thinks she failed. She thinks Catherine is going to get up and run. She thinks she has said or asked too much and disturbed the silent understanding they had.

“Okay. Okay. But we’re gonna need more tea.”

For the first time, in a long time, Catherine feels safe. Safe enough to talk about Becky and how she knew she was on the wrong end but didn’t want to believe it. About Ryan, and how his birth, and subsequent adoption, broke her marriage. About the affair she was having with Richard and the feelings she was still harboring for him. About how she put an end to it. About how sometimes Ryan drives her up the wall and sometimes she’s afraid she had made the wrong decision to keep him. About how sometimes, in her darker moments, she regrets that decision. And yet when she looks at the boy she sometimes sees her daughter. She tells Jane about Royce. And that part is the hardest. She talks about how she had dreamed of killing him, of actually wanting to make his blood spill. About him getting away with all the abuse towards Becky, Ann, Kirsten and probably others. She told Jane about how close she had come to killing him three days ago and how that frightened her. She also tells her about the relief she feels now that he’s behind bars for good.

And during all of it, Jane listens. Not a shadow of judgement on her face. She nods every now and then. Frowns too. Throughout these revelations she holds Catherine’s hand, and it’s like she’s giving her the strength to continue.

When finally Catherine stops, Jane makes sure she’s really stopping and waits another minute in complete silence, but Catherine doesn’t find anything to say to fill the space anymore. She feels empty. The fog in her mind lifts for a moment and she feels light again. Even if she knows it won't last, the respite feels heavenly.

“So...will my soul burn in hell, Father?” Catherine jokes, hiding the real question.

“Shit, don’t call me Father. It’s just…ew” Jane shudders at the very thought. “And no, my child, you shall not burn in the fiery pits of hell.” She adds with the best official and clerical voice she can muster. “Catherine, everything you said, those are normal feelings. Yes, it’s fucked up beyond thinking but it’s normal that you’re feeling them. You - What is it?” Jane asks when she sees Catherine’s eyes wide. “Oh yes, I swear. I always forget it can throw people off. Just so you know, I draw the line at blasphemy. So swear away but never take the name of the Lord in vain and we’ll be good,” the brunette says, casually.

“Oh...okay...good to fucking know then!” Catherine mocks a little, smiling.

“I was saying. You need to talk to your son. Ask him for a cuppa. Tell him you love him. That you’re sorry. Just tell him. He’s going to be a father soon. He’ll understand, maybe not right away but you need to tell him. Please.” Jane pleads.

“If you think it’s best. I’ll call him...Oh my G-uhm Shit, have you seen the time?!” Catherine jumps up and walks toward the door. “I’m sorry I kept you for so long! Jane, you should have said something!”

“You needed to talk. I was willing to listen. Besides, I have nothing to do here. I’m new and the life of the parish isn’t that full at the moment,” the vicar answers, shrugging. She joins her at the entrance.

“New, eh? You’ll have to tell me about that. Can’t have an unknown citizen roaming around on my patch,” the police officer says, making Jane laugh a little.

“Okay, Sarge, listen. You’re welcome here anytime, anyday. If I’m not here, I’m probably in church. You saw it, it’s the big old building over there. The one with the roof, mind you. Come and visit, Catherine. It’ll do you good to walk and take in the fresh air,” Jane insists.

“I will. Now I really have to go. Seems like we’re always parting like this…me having to leave…” Catherine says, musing. “I’ll come back. Thank you, so very much for...well...everything. The tea was particularly good,” she winks, although Jane knows she’s not talking about the tea.

“As I said, you’re welcome.” Jane smiles warmly before hugging the blonde briefly. And before letting her go completely, she deposits a very light kiss on her cheek. “For good luck,” she says, and releases Catherine.

The sergeant, not willing to show how stunned she feels, turns her heels and waves as she walks away, her back turned. It’s been a while since Catherine has had something real to thank god for. In the camouflaging shadows of dusk, Jane didn’t see the rising blush on Catherine’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a prayer called At a bereavement  
> [...]  
> Our eyes, Lord, are wasted with grief; you know we are weary with groaning.  
> As we remember our death in the dark emptiness of the night, have mercy on us and heal us;  
> forgive us and take away our fear through the dying and rising of Jesus your Son.  
> Amen  
> https://www.churchofengland.org/prayer-and-worship/topical-prayers/prayers-remembrance 
> 
> Let me know what you think :D


	3. We pray for an end to fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part's dialogue is word for word the dialogue between Catherine and Daniel from the show.

“ _How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into._ ” ― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

As promised, the next morning Catherine called Daniel. They set a time for mid-afternoon. They were to meet for tea at a café in Hebden Bridge. Catherine had almost thought he would cancel at the last minute but he showed up, a bit unsure about how to proceed. They both remembered the harsh words they had exchanged on her birthday. 

“Thanks for ringing,” said Daniel, discomfort written all over his face.

“D'you want some, um...?” Catherine gestured at the teapot on the table.

“Sure,” he answered. Not completely believing he was in front of her, Catherine took a second to look at him.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, earnestly.

“I'm sorry...that I spoilt your birthday.” Daniel apologised, ashamed at his drunken behavior. 

“Yeah, well, I'm sorry I, um…” Catherine struggled to find words for a moment. Then she remembered her conversation with Jane and they started to flow a lot easier. “When your baby's born, you'll know. You'll get it. Losing a child, it's just, it's…” She paused, trying to find the strength to look her son in the eyes. But those eyes were the same as Becky’s. “The only way you can cope with it, I suspect, is to go a little bit mad. And it's never fair on other children, your other children, to see a parent like that and to have to put up with the things that are said. And I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry I let it. I know she wasn't perfect. I do know that.” She knew she had held Becky on a pedestal for so long. Trying to ignore her faults, then, after her death, trying to forget about them. And she needs Daniel to know that she was done living with a made-up ghost. Even for her own sake, she had to stop and accept Becky for who she was, faults and all. It wasn’t taking anything away from the love she had and will forever have for her.

“I wish I could show you how much I love you.” The tears in Daniel’s eyes as she said it broke her heart a little bit more.

“Mum…” he started, reaching for her hand. 

“I'm so proud of you,” she interrupted him, reaching back. He let it sink in before talking again.

“What about you and Dad... and Ros?” Daniel asked. Catherine felt like they were back 8 years earlier when she and Richard had announced their divorce. 

“Oh, that's…” Just like then, she struggled to find the right words to talk about it. “You see that… me and your dad probably would never have split up if… but we did. So…”  _ So there’s no way to mend that _ , she thought. The wound might have healed but the scar was too deep, leaving a rift between them. Besides, Richard seemed happy with Ros, she’s a good person. Deep down, Catherine is glad he found love again. She felt jealous and angry for a long time but not any longer. With Royce going to prison for good, she could finally rest and truly move on. “And Ryan, every day, I don't know, he'll do something, he'll be in trouble, he'll drive me up the wall and I don't know that I made the right decision, but I genuinely don't know what else I could've done.” The mere thought of the little boy brought joy. The words were honest, painfully so. She loved him just as if she’d given birth to him herself. Maybe even more.

“I know. I know.” Daniel nodded.

“Had him put in care?” She tried, knowing that was one thing that had been said at her party.

“No,” her son asserted. 

“Even though you all hated me for it?” She kept pushing, the point needed to be discussed to its full extent.

“Mum...nobody hates you.” Catherine knew they weren’t on the “ _ I love you _ ” level. Yet. But the simple sentence let her see the path to get back to the bond she had shared with her son so many years ago.

After this, they mostly talked about Lucy, her pregnancy and the baby to come. Mother and son finally enjoying each other’s company again. It would take some time to find their new normal, but they’d get there. 

\-----------------

When Catherine gets up the following day, she’s eager to see Jane and tell her about the meeting. The weather forecast announced beautiful weather, though a bit windy, for the entire day. So after visiting Ryan in the morning - Clare is doing the afternoon shift - Catherine decides to go for a walk. She makes her sister promise to reach her on her mobile phone if anything happens. She makes the quick trip back home by car and then abandons it in favor of her feet. As Jane put it, it’ll do her good to walk and take in some fresh air.

The walk up to Heptonstall is steeper than she had thought. But, taking her time, she even manages to enjoy the walk.

When she finally arrives at the Old Vicarage on Church Street, there’s a sense of relief enveloping her. To her surprise, it’s not relief that she feels when she arrives at her destination, sweaty and in need of a giant glass of water. She’s unsettled that her relief comes from the fact that she’ll see Jane very soon. She’s disconcerted by how she had actually missed being in her presence. For all the people around her, Catherine had felt so lonely for so long. After Becky, after the divorce, her friends started to turn away, one by one. At one point, she realised people just couldn't deal with her sadness anymore. They couldn't take her being depressed and tired all the time. They didn't understand the pain a mother goes through. Or maybe they just didn't want her to jinx their own happiness. But then Jane came along; she just appeared, out of nowhere. She showed her kindness and listened, truly listened. If she believed in that sort of thing, Catherine would say she felt like Jane listened to her soul, and wasn't scared of what she heard. 

“Oh come on, Catherine, just because she listened to your sad story doesn’t mean anything. You just need to get out more if the company of a priest puts you in this state!” She tells herself as she knocks on the door.  _ You did blush though when she kissed your cheek that one time _ , answers a tiny voice in the back of her mind. She scoffs back. 

No answer. She knocks again, a bit louder. Waits a minute. Nothing. A wave of disappointment starts to roll through Catherine’s body. Then she remembers what Jane had said: “ _ If I’m not here, I’m probably in church _ .” Taking her courage in hands, she finds her second breath and walks to the church.

When she reaches the imposing building, there’s no vicar around but as is her habit from years of policing, she spots the car right away, mentally checking the number plate. She pushes the heavy wooden door of church and Jane is there, in the middle of the nave, chatting with a man, pointing at the ceiling. The guy is clearly a handyman, judging by his overalls and the ladder he is holding by his side. 

Being as quiet as possible, Catherine reaches the back row and sits on a pew, content to just rest after her long walk. The bonus for her, of course, is to see Jane in her element. While she looks at her, Catherine notices that in addition to Jane’s usual grey shirt enhancing the white of her clerical collar, she’s wearing sneakers and jeans. A fact that, so far, the sergeant had completely missed. It makes her smile. Jane is so far from any other vicar she’s met before that if it wasn’t for that piece of white plastic, she’d actually forget she is one. 

Catherine realises suddenly that the last time she had been here, it was for Becky’s funeral. The memories she has from that day are tinged with grey. In her mind, the interior of this church was dark, cramped and sad. It reeked of death. The mind can play tricks, she thinks, as she looks around to see a luminous interior with the usual high blueish ceiling. This place doesn’t feel sad. It’s beautiful and spacious. Then her eyes meet Jane’s for the first time that day. The brunette smiles at her. Catherine vaguely hears her say something like “I’ll be right back,” to the handyman before leaving him there.

“Catherine! I’m so glad to see you!” She says as she walks towards her. “Oh dear, have you walked here? Are you okay?” Jane continues, concern in her voice. Catherine frowns, nodding slightly. “You’re red and you look…uhm…sweaty” Jane whispers.

“Oh! Yes, I walked. I stopped at your house but here you are.” Catherine says, pulling on her right sleeve to wipe her brow. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bathroom here, would you?”

“Of course, we do! It’s an old building but we have all the commodities. Well, when the heating works and the electricity isn’t playing hide and seek. Follow me.” Jane says. “John, I’ll be back in a minute. You know what to do! Don’t disappoint me!” She states louder, towards the handyman. Smiling, he mock-salutes her.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,” Catherine apologises.

“Please, I asked you to. And I wouldn’t do my job properly if I sent you back after you walked all this way!” The vicar says, honestly.

“I just...I...I need to talk to you,” the blonde confesses in a breath, smiling in excitement. 

“I’m not a copper but I figured as much, Sergeant.” Jane winks. “Look, I need to finish with John and you need to...whatever you’re gonna do in my bathroom...I’ll be with you as soon as I’m done. Try not to self-combust in my church. It’s way too much paperwork,” she adds, as seriously as she can. They both start laughing and Jane is already leaving, walking backwards for a few steps.

“I’ll do my best to reign in the sinful thoughts, Vicar.” Catherine answers. It comes out far more suggestive than it was supposed to be. The brunette’s eyebrows shoot up and a playing grin lifts her mouth up. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I-” The police woman starts to apologise.

“We'll talk about penance for those thoughts later, my child,” and with that, Jane winks and disappears, leaving Catherine and her thoughts alone, wondering what just happened. 

When Catherine finally reappears from the bathroom, she finds Jane in deep conversation with an elderly woman. Probably a parishioner in need of guidance. Catherine sighs, having missed her spot with the vicar, and sits on one of the pews, regretting not having brought a book. After a couple of minutes, impatient, she gets up and tries to catch Jane’s gaze. When she finally manages, she gestures her she’s going outside, Jane nods, a quick apologetic look on her face. 

Catherine chooses a bench facing the ruins of the old Church. With the sun on her back, the woman can feel warmth spreading inside her, the kind that penetrates your skin and warms your bones. She feels like a weightless blanket is enveloping her. She never took the time to really look at the building. She’s seen it, of course. It’s hard to miss. She tries to imagine a time when people came here regularly and it was still standing in all its glory. The sheer effort it must have taken to build it. She knows very little of the history but she remembers something about great storm taking it down. The dates don’t really matter to her. And suddenly she makes a connexion: this church was completely destroyed, yet it’s still beautiful. And there’s another one, very similar, rebuilt next to it, saying “ _ you can strike again, I’ll keep getting up. _ ” 

That’s when her thoughts are interrupted.

“Penny for them?” Jane is already sitting next to her, tightening her thick cardigan on her chest.

“I was thinking about how beautiful ruins are…” Catherine answers vaguely.

“Oh. Do you want to talk about ruins or tell me why you walked all the way here?” Jane asks naturally. 

“I talked to Daniel.” Catherine’s face lights up. 

“How did it go?” Jane tries to stay as neutral as she can, even if the smile on the Sergeant’s face gives her all the clues she needs.

“I told him what I told you. He...I was amazed that he actually showed up. It was awkward for a minute then I remembered you telling me to just tell him I’m sorry. I think he understood. It’ll take time for us to mend what I broke but we’ll get there. I know we will.” Catherine is on the verge of tears just thinking back to that moment she shared with her son yesterday. Happy tears, for once. Catherine looks into Jane’s eyes until she can’t resist and throws her arms around the brunette’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” she says. Overwhelmed by her own emotions, Catherine never felt Jane tense up and then relax in the span of a three seconds. The vicar, who was not expecting to be hugged, finally accepts it and hugs the police woman back, smiling for no one to see.

“You’re welcome.” The hug lasts just more than it probably should have. It feels different than the ones they had shared. The desperation is gone. The tears aren’t coming down her face like the Deluge. It also strikes Jane that it’s the first time Catherine hugs her, and not the other way around. But the thing the brunette finds the most surprising is that she loves it. She had no idea how much she needed it. On the surface, it’s probably her need to feel needed that is satisfied, her need to be thanked. She is afraid to dig deeper and chooses not to think about it now. 

“Is everything all right in there?” Catherine says as she breaks off the hug and gestures toward the church with a nod.

“Mmh?...” It take Jane a second to get her bearings back. “Oh! Yes! You know, people needing guidance and lightbulbs needing replacing. The wonderful life of Jane Oliver, Vicar of Heptonstall!” Jane laughs, spreading her hands in the air as if showing the title written there in big Broadway letters. Catherine chuckles. It pleases Jane to see her this vibrant. 

“Fancy a cuppa, Sarge?” the vicar asks as she jumps up and offers her arm to the blonde.

“How could I resist such an offer!” Catherine answers, linking her arm as if they were old friends. 

And maybe they were. In another life. Another place. Because Catherine definitely feels like she’s known Jane for forever even though she knows nothing about her. If she believed in that sort of thing, Catherine would say that her soul recognized hers. But that would imply the concept of soul mates. And there’s just no way Catherine believes in that sort of thing...right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from : A prayer for peace  
> Gracious God,  
> We pray for peace in our communities this day.   
> We commit to you all who work for peace and an end to tensions, And those who work to uphold law and justice.  
> We pray for an end to fear, For comfort and support to those who suffer.  
> For calm in our streets and cities, That people may go about their lives in safety and peace.  
> In your mercy, hear our prayers, now and always.  
> Amen  
> http://www.stthomasheptonstall.com/ 
> 
> I'm sorry about the slow burn...except...I'm not... 
> 
> Hope you like it, let me know :D


	4. Help me to bear the pain as I go through the memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the darkest chapter of all. Night terrors, panic attack, Catherine has them all. I'm lucky enough to never have suffered from any of those so I tried to do my best with what I've read about them. 
> 
> However, if you suffer from PTSD or any kind of anxiety, there are people out there to help you. Please, let them help. There is absolutely no shame in needing help. Fundamentally, helping is what humans do best.

“ _Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh has gone through; I dream of what it may go through._ ” - Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

Catherine wakes up thrashing in her bed. Her mind is blank with panic. Her pyjamas and bed sheets are soaked in sweat. She looks around, eyes wide with confusion and fear. 

“Bedroom. Safe. Breathe.” She repeats to herself until the pounding of her heart lessens in her ears. Clare hasn’t barged in, that means she wasn’t screaming in her sleep like the last time. A quick check at the alarm clock tells her it’s 1:47am. Perfect, she thinks bitterly, another sleepless night. There’s just no way she’ll get back to sleep after this. Not only does she have to change the sheets, again, but she also needs to change. She needs a shower. She needs to get up and wake up. She needs a cuppa. She needs...the thought of a simple cup of tea leads her thoughts to Jane. No. She can’t decently walk to Heptonstall at two in the morning and bang on a vicar’s door. 

A flash of Royce kicking her viciously in the chest crosses her mind, her body feeling a burn where the pain exploded back then.

She darts out of her bed at record speed. She gets down the stairs as quickly and quietly as she can manage without waking anyone. Grabs her jacket, slips into a pair of wellies she left by the door, snags her phone from the table by the entrance door and out she goes. It’s not like she consciously made the decision to take that direction instead of another but when she finally gets back to her own mind, she’s more than halfway to that small house on Church Street. 

And of course, that’s when it starts to rain. Well, pour would be more accurate. Being closer to Jane’s she reluctantly continues, succumbing to the strong pull in that direction. “ _ It’s only logical, _ ” she tells herself. After five minutes, Catherine’s jacket isn’t enough to fight the water. By the time she arrives, she is soaked to the bone. 

She knocks on the door, quite loudly. A light flickers on at the window above the front door. Catherine feels relief warming her slightly. Then, the light of the living room shows through the window next to the entrance. That’s where Jane’s desk is, Catherine remembers. She’s close. A frowny sleepy face shows up at that window. The police woman currently sleeping in Catherine’s mind nods, almost proud of the vicar’s reaction.

“Catherine?! What the fuck? Come in.” Jane says, opening the door and ushers Catherine inside. 

“I’m sorry I...” The blonde tries but her voice feels tiny.

“You’re soaked! Take this useless jacket off… yeah the wellies too. Here, put this around you and come with me.” The brunette has already helped her out of the jacket and Catherine is pulling off the shoes with her toes. Jane, who had taken her robe off, is enveloping Catherine in it and pushing her towards the stairs. The heat trapped in the robe transfers to Catherine and it’s not just warmth anymore: it’s kindness and affection warming her up. Her clothes are still dripping on the floor but her heart doesn’t feel ice-cold anymore.

“Shit, you’re gonna catch pneumonia like this!” During the short walk it takes to get to their destination, the bathroom, Jane never stops rubbing Catherine’s arms, hoping the heat warms her up, telling her it’s okay. 

“Towels are here,” she says, opening a cupboard. “Shower is there. Nothing fancy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Sergeant.” She grins. “I’ll be right back with something to replace your clothes.” She disappears and reappears before Catherine can process what’s happening. 

“Here, yoga pants and T-shirt. I...well I’m...ummm...I put some knickers in there too. Pretty sure we’re not the same size...ummm...bra-wise. Anyway...undress, I’ll be behind the door. Just hand me the wet clothes, I’ll throw them in the washing machine.” Catherine nods and Jane is out again. She does as asked and, holding a towel wrapped around her naked body, hands over her things. Jane tries her best to stare at her feet as she takes the wet bundle.

“Thank you for...” the blonde tries.

“It’s nothing. Take the time you need. Use whatever you want. I’ll be downstairs with a cuppa.” Jane doesn’t give her the time to answer or acknowledge her words. She’s already disappearing down the stairs.

Catherine is left in the bathroom, in nothing but a towel, blinking in confusion. This certainly was a side of Jane she had not seen. The brunette seemed to know exactly what she was doing, what needed to be done. There was the interrogation of what Catherine was doing there, but the disorientation coming with the surprise was completely absent. The only conclusion the sergeant comes to as she stepped under the heated water is that this whole situation had happened to Jane before. And if so, who? Under what circumstances? Where? So many question the police officer lists in her mind. Because it is easier to think about that than to remember why SHE is there. “ _ You’ll have to tell her you had a bad dream. And then, she’ll probably laugh at you. _ ” A dark voice in her mind reminds her. No, Jane would never, she tries to reassure herself. “ _ She’ll laugh and then she’ll kick you out! In a couple of hours, she won’t even remember you, you stupid cow. And you’ll be alone again. _ ” Catherine hates the night. She used to love it but since Royce beat her up, everytime she wakes up, even without a nightmare, that dark asinine voice in her mind likes to play on all her insecurities. The tiniest thought was turned against her, destroying any work she had done on herself during the day. Why should tonight be different. Catherine isn’t strong enough to fight it. She lets her anxieties envelop her and she cries under the shower. 

Jane is downstairs. The washing machine is already doing its thing. The kettle is on the stove, gently getting warmer. Mugs are ready to be filled. Jane waits. She waits and she worries. She worries then she prays.

“God, give her the strength. I don’t know what happened, You probably do. I know she doesn’t believe but I do. Please, give her the strength she needs,” she whispers and silently starts reciting a Hail Mary.

When she hears the shower stop, she gets up to serve the tea, adds the milk, and no sugar for the blonde. When Catherine arrives in the living room, the steaming cup is waiting for her on the table, and the vicar is waiting, sitting cross-legged on the couch, nursing her own mug. The blonde sits on the same sofa, as far away from Jane as she can. She knows it’s silly and she could have simply sat in a chair but that seemed too far. Catherine mirrors Jane’s position. They let the silence between them reach the comfortable point they know so well. The sergeant knows the vicar is letting her take the lead whenever she feels ready. That moment comes a couple of minutes later.

“I had a nightmare.” She says. But Jane barely recognises her voice. It’s weak and full of apology. 

“You want to tell me about it?” Jane asks, knowing now that Catherine won’t open up unless asked.

“I-It’s...I was back in the basement only instead of Ann, it was…” Catherine takes a deep shaky breath. “It was Ryan. And I knew that...he said...Royce, he wanted to...I’m sorry!” she bursts into tears, her entire body shaking. Incapable of just sitting there and watch the battle in her friend’s mind, Jane grabs her mug and sets it on the table before pulling Catherine against her. 

“Ryan is safe. You saved him. You put Royce away for good. He will never hurt anyone ever again. YOU did that, Catherine.” Jane whispers, rubbing Catherine’s back soothingly.

“I-I know. It-it felt so real! I was o-on the floor and I-I couldn’t move and h-he was pouring petrol...I could s-smell it when I woke up!” The blonde explains, sobbing uncontrollably, starting to hyperventilate. 

“It’s okay.” She takes Catherine’s shoulders in her hands and sits her up, catching her eyes, making sure she’s looking right at her. “I want you to breathe with me, okay? In…1-2-3-4, hold...2-3-4-5-6-7, and out… 2-3-4-5-6-7-8. We’re gonna do it again until you feel you don’t need to anymore, okay?” Catherine nods. They do it three or four times more until Jane feels the tension Catherine’s shoulders relaxing beneath her fingers. 

“How are you feeling now?” She asks.

“Calmer. Thank you. I...I’m sorry I came here in the middle of the night. I feel ridiculous...I had a bad dream and I...” Catherine starts to apologise but Jane is having none of it.

“You did what felt right for you. I’m honored you felt safe enough with me to come all the way up here. And Catherine, it’s not just a bad dream. I’ve worked with enough people having gone through trauma to know,” Jane says calmly, handing her mug back to the blonde.

“I woke you up. You work all day listening to people and helping them and I come in the middle of the night...I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I won’t...” 

“If the next words coming out of your mouth are ‘do it again’, you better swallow them, Sarge.” The vicar’s voice is authoritative, leaving no other choice to Catherine than to actually swallow expressively. It’s more like a reflex, an order her body followed without her mind being conscious about it. “Good. And if you think you’re the first person to bang on my door in the middle of the night, soaked to the bones, you better think again,” Jane adds, enigmatically.

“And here I was, hoping to be your first…” Jane bursts into laughter at the double meaning of that silly phrase. It makes Catherine smile. When did she start loving hearing that laughter so much. When Jane quietens down, she adds “Will you tell me the story of the others who came bothering you in the night or should I go full sergeant on you?” 

Jane knows the sudden thought in her mind is not appropriate. At all. And she has to bite her lip not to comment on it. It would have been so easy. But truth be told, she owes Catherine a little background on herself. 

“I used to have a parish in London. Big city. So many people. And once upon a time, I worked with an MP. We worked with immigrant communities. Basically, we were doing what the politicians weren’t. Helping people in need of food, shelter, medical attention, all that. Word spreads really fast when you’re helping people in need. One night, this young woman came banging at my door. She was about 23-24. Soaked, speaking really fast, completely disoriented. I didn’t know then that she was high as a kite. And she was having a very bad trip down. I took her in, changed her clothes and waited.” Jane sips her tea, trying to gage Catherine’s reaction. Seeing nothing peculiar, she keeps going.

“When she finally came back to her senses, the next morning, I asked her the usual questions. She was called Linh. Came from Vietnam on a shady boat. She had a dream, but it got taken away from her. I’ll let you imagine what she had to do to pay for her passage. They got her hooked on ketamine. Funny thing, they actually lost her. They forgot she was in the car and left it open. She grabbed her next dose and ran. The dose was tainted. Homeless people pointed her to me and long story short, that was it,” Jane finishes.

“What happened to her after that?” Catherine asked. “Hell, what happened to them?!”

“My friend got her a student visa. Bit of a complicated situation. I tried my best to get her clean. I...uhm...we…” Jane frowns, trying to decide if she should tell Catherine about her true relationship with Linh. That would imply a whole other conversation. Something she’s not really ready for yet, specially not at 3 in the morning. “She’s fine. That was about 2-3 years ago. She went back to Vietnam to try and re-enter the UK legally.” Catherine’s police skills pick up on what was left unsaid. There’s more to this and before she can stop, she hears herself ask.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Reverend. Did she hurt you? Did they?” The sergeant sees Jane wince at the mention of being hurt. “What did she do to you?” she adds. Jane sighs.

“Catherine...It’s 3 o’clock in the morning. I’m really not sure we should talk about my past right now.” Jane tries to play on Catherine’s guilt of waking her up. 

“Hardarse police officer, here. I won’t forget, you know. So either now, or later.” The blonde says, leaving Jane the choice to refuse one last time.

“I...I fell in love with her.” It’s barely above a whisper. Jane avoids Catherine’s eyes and looks intently into her empty mug. She has essentially come out to Catherine. Their relationship will change from now on. And it can go one of two ways.

“Did she love you back?” Catherine asks right away. Not even a breath of shock. Jane’s head lifts so fast she could swear she saw stars in her peripheral vision. She opens her mouth but no sound comes out. “Jane, I swear to god, if you don’t tell me...” Catherine stops at the grunt coming from the woman sitting in front of her. “Right. Sorry. Just...You said too much or too little. Let me think about something else than my fucked up life for a minute. Please.” Catherine pleads.

“Oh so you want to think about MY fucked up life?” Jane tries to joke but it falls flat. Catherine knows the trick. “Fuck. Fine. I think she did. I’m not so sure anymore. She never hurt me, not like that, not like you think. And the traffickers got arrested soon after I took her in. For your information, me taking her in wasn’t tied with me falling for her. Well...shit you know what I mean. She was young. Full of life and she saw me. Me! A 45 year old lesbian vicar living a celibate life. It was flattering at the beginning. In hindsight…” She sighs deeply. “I should have been stronger. When she got caught up in a murder investigation...”

“EXCUSE ME?!” Catherine, quiet until then, is unable to contain herself. 

“Fuck, calm down, Sergeant, she didn’t kill anyone! She was a witness. Problem was she was illegal and she was high on ketamine at the time. It didn’t take long before the tabloids got wind of the story and...let’s say the Church of England still has a long way to walk before encountering Acceptance. That’s another story, really.” 

“Yes, okay, fair call. So…” Catherine lets it hang in the air. Jane prepares mentally for the classic “ _ so you’re a lesbian, uh? _ ” question, accompanied with a flood of queries about how that works with her position as a vicar. “You’re from London?” Well that’s not something she expected.

“Yes…?” She answers tentatively.

“Yeah, Hebden Bridge is better.” Catherine says, matter-of-factly, effectively destroying any tension between them.

“Definitely. Though I hear the police efficiency is down these days…” They both start laughing.

“I know! I’m going back in about two weeks. It’s gonna be horrible...for the bad guys!” Catherine jokes. Jane believes every word of it.

“Okay, Super Sergeant, how about we get some sleep? I’m knackered!” Jane wants to add “ _ Some blonde goddess pulled me out of bed, _ ” but maybe it’s too early, following the revelation on her sexuality. Not that she thinks of Catherine that way.  _ You sure about that _ , something in her asks.

“I’ll be fine on the sofa, Super Vicar.” Catherine says, pulling Jane from her own troublesome thoughts.

“Nonsense. There’s a spare bedroom and the bedding is clean. Come on.” 

Catherine follows the brunette upstairs again. She shows her the room and tells her she’ll come to wake her up around 9, as she has Holy Communion followed by Coffee Morning at 10. She tells Catherine she’s welcome to attend. The blonde declines, saying she needs to get back. Ryan is coming home today. Jane reminds her to text Clare and bids her goodnight.

When Catherine gets to bed, she realises that the dark ominous voice is absent. And the last thing appearing in her mind is Jane smiling at her. There are no more nightmares that night. For the first time, Catherine sleeps safe and sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from A Prayer for People with PTSD.  
> Higher Power, I know it's not within the harmony of the universe that I be healed from the trauma of remembering without pain.  
> Help me through the pain.  
> Surround me with the golden light of healing, fill me with the white light of peace and love.  
> Help me to bear the pain as I go through the memories.  
> Help me to cry.  
> Help me to remember.  
> Help me to love myself no matter what happened to me or what I did to survive.  
> Help me to release and let go of my survival skills, the things such as anger and numbness that helped keep me alive, as I become aware of how ineffective they can be in getting me what I want today.  
> Fill me with light and love until I am green and growing again in the harmony of the universe, if it be Thy will, AMEN. by: Patience Mason
> 
> http://paratrooperprayers.tripod.com/id63.html 
> 
> We're close to halfway through. Let me know what you think :D


	5. This is another day, O Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the second section is the last image you have of Catherine in season 1, up on that hill and letting go. That's the last of the tie-in with the show.

“ _If the moon smiled, she would resemble you._ _   
You leave the same impression    
_ _Of something beautiful, but annihilating._ ” 

― Sylvia Plath, Ariel: The Restored Edition

* * *

 

The nights following that dreadful nightmare, Catherine sleeps. She even dares to think she sleeps well. No bad dream to wake up to, no thrashing about in her own bed and even that little discouraging voice seems to have lost its grit. And even if Catherine is still feeling empty, she doesn’t feel like she’s in the dark anymore. 

A few days later, as she visits Heptonstall on her now-daily walk to the peaceful park around the ruins of the old church, irrespective of whether Jane is there or not, Catherine meets the vicar on her way back from the church. A smile illuminates Jane’s face at first sight of the blonde figure.

“Catherine! I was just thinking about you. How’s Ryan?” Jane asks, cheerfully.

“He’s fine. Annoyed to be going back to school next week. But he’s driving me up the wall with all that pent-up energy and endless stream of questions. I needed to get out of the house or I swear to...uhm...I just needed to get out of the house before I did or said something I’d regret.” Catherine answers, honestly. “What about you? Any big event coming up?”

“Well tomorrow’s the usual Morning Coffee. You really should come. It’d give me someone to talk to about something other than Lent or how much of an arsehole Judas was.” The vicar laughs.

“Oh, you know, me and the Church...I...uhm” Clearly, Catherine wants to say more but refrains. Jane had gathered bits of her religious past but nothing she could piece together and see the whole picture. 

“I’m...well...the Church is closed for the day, I was about to make myself a cuppa, if you fancy one. Maybe you can finally tell me how such an incredible sheep strayed from our modest herd.” Jane suggests, playfully nudging Catherine’s shoulder with her own. 

“I’m afraid the shepherd wasn’t good. That’s how this black sheep got away.” The blonde sighs. She knows the subject would come up eventually. Today is as good as any, she figures.

“Mmh...no, I don’t see any black sheep around. Just a lost little lamb,” Jane comments smiling and exaggerating the high pitch in her voice like one does when talking to a small child. She’s already crossing her front door and Catherine sees the familiar gesture of her pulling her dog collar and throwing it on her desk. 

“I’ll show you a lost little lamb…” Catherine mumbles, knowing Jane can’t make it out.

“What’s that?” The brunette turns midstep, a happy expression on her face. Catherine shrugs. “Yeah...that’s what I thought.” Jane adds, suspiciously looking at her friend. “I’ll put the kettle on.” The blonde follows her to the kitchen for the first time. She leans on the closest counter and watches the vicar fill the kettle and pull mugs out of a cupboard. A moment of comfortable silence passes between them.

“He asked me to forgive Royce.” Catherine confesses finally. “He said that sinners were God’s Children too. The thing that killed me was that he implied that Becky was going to hell because she took her own life and that Royce should be given a chance to meet his son.”

“Fucking arsehole!” Jane blurts out. It makes the police woman smile sadly, almost ironically.

“Oh if that was just it...he said this right after Becky’s funeral. I had Ryan in my arms and my daughter had just been put in the ground. The baby was screaming his lungs out the whole time that priest talked to me. I tried to come back some weeks afterwards, wanting to make sure that’s what he said. He persisted. Even reprimanded me for swearing and calling Royce names. I was mad with grief but he was quicker to offer kind words about that rapist piece of shit than to comfort a mother who’d just lost her daughter.” Catherine’s tone is almost detached as she tells the story. It felt like it happened forever ago. In a sense, it happened in another life, to another person. 

“Oh Catherine…” Jane says, feeling her friend’s pain.

“And well, as for the community...that part is partly my fault. I couldn’t deal with the stares and whispers everytime I entered a room with our Ryan on the hip or in his buggy. So I just stopped going to events. Nobody came begging for my return.” Catherine refuses to admit that her anger got the best of her back then. She was mad at everybody. And she was not afraid of lashing out.

“Catherine, I’m...heartbroken that this fucking bastard was not able to do his job properly. I can ask to know where he is, or if he’s still alive, if you want to tell him how he made you feel. Dickhead, really. How could he!” Jane is fuming. The blonde can see her trembling slightly as she pours the boiling water into the mugs. She knows her words are barely covering how she feels. And she’s right: Jane abhors priests like that man, holding on to traditional bollocks that shouldn’t even have existed in the first place. 

“It’s okay. You...you showed me...you’re nothing like him. It’s so easy to talk to you. It feels so good, too. I’m not ready to come back to a church that considers my daughter a spawn of hell...”

“No. That’s not how I...your daughter was in pain. God saw her. Believe me, Becky is bathing in Her light right now and she’s at peace. And Royce will get what’s coming for him.” Catherine had never seen Jane talk with such fierceness and passion. For a second, she wonders if Jane’s sermons are delivered with as much enthusiasm. Maybe she should find out. One day, she tells herself. 

“And now I demand that you join us for tomorrow’s Morning Coffee. Your community failed you. It’s time they mend what they’ve broken.” The vicar says as she carries the mugs to the living room. Catherine laughs.

“I don’t drink coffee…” She tries to find a flaw in the plan.

“We serve tea. You won’t be able to get out of this, Catherine Cawood. I’ll come grab you from your bed if I have to.” Jane is resolute.

“Is that a promise, Vicar?” Catherine says, raising an eyebrow. She doesn’t know if she meant to say it this seductively, but here they are. And it doesn’t take much more to make the 47-year-old vicar blush behind her steaming mug.

The next morning, Catherine is having tea in the back of Saint Thomas the Apostle, Church of Heptonstall. And she’s enjoying herself. She barely notices Jane’s gaze following her around while she talks to her parishioners. Except for that time when their eyes meet and the rest of the world disappears for a brief second, rendering them alone in a crowded room.

\--------------

The next community event Jane insists Catherine attends is the Community Breakfast. It takes place on the Saturday before the sergeant goes back to work. Spring has definitely settled in and the morning, though still fresh, has a promising warmth. That day, Clare has to go to Lifeline. Something about replacing someone who fell. Catherine is left with Ryan and a choice: bringing her grandchild with her or asking her elderly neighbor to look after him. When asked, Ryan pleads to accompany his grandmother.

When they arrive, the breakfast is already underway. People are gently chatting in every corner in small groups. There’s a pleasant hum filling the big church. Jane, who keeps searching for the familiar blonde head, finally spots her arriving through the heavy doors. She is surprised to see her accompanied by a child. They have the same kindness in their eyes, the same curiosity as well.

“Ah, you must be Ryan! I’m Jane, nice to meet you, young man,” The brunette says as she closes in on them. Catherine smiles. A warmth runs through her as Jane approaches, tension falling from her shoulders. Ryan, a bit overwhelmed by the building and the welcome takes a small step back and partially hides behind Catherine. Since the incident with Royce, he’s been wary of strangers trying to greet him.

“It’s okay, Ryan, Jane’s a friend. She’s also the vicar here. You can trust her,” Catherine says, hand on the boy’s head, gently inviting him to come forward. She lifts her head and looks at directly at Jane, “I know I do.” She adds. Jane grins and bends a knee to be at eye level with Ryan.

“Do you know what a vicar is, Ryan?” Jane asks softly.

“They’re old pillocks talking too much about things they don’t know?” Ryan recites the words he’s heard while eavesdropping. 

“Ryan!” Catherine begins to admonish him.

“He’s right! There are some old pillocks talking too much about things they don’t know. However, I know many, many things. For example, I know there’s some cake on that table there, some chocolate milk on that one and some comics in the table by the stairs right over there...what do you think?” Jane says, proudly. Ryan’s eyes lit up at each mention. He turns to his granny, silently asking for permission.

“Yes, go! Be nice!” She barely has time to say the words, Ryan dashes off. “I’m sorry about…” Catherine starts.

“Oh please, he was right. Well...you were. You’d never met a Super Vicar like me before, all is forgiven, Child.” Jane smiles, mimicking a blessing gesture towards the blonde.

“You are one of a kind, Jane.” The blonde says, absentmindedly. “I was wondering...you’ve done so much for me already...Could I...I have a favour to ask…” Catherine says, fidgeting, poking at the delicate skin around her fingernails. She does her best to avoid Jane’s eyes.

“You can ask for anything, Catherine. You should know that by now.” Jane replies, clasping her hands over Catherine’s to make her stop scratching herself raw. 

“He...he asked about his mom. About Heaven and hell. And God. He has questions but I don’t have answers. Not objective ones. And I don’t want...he should be able to form his own opinion. And I...I trust that you’ll give him the right tools he needs to form it.” The police woman confesses, staring at the delicate hands covering hers. Catherine wonders if Jane is fully aware of the small pattern the soft pad of her thumb is tracing on her suddenly sensitive skin.

“I’m honoured, Catherine. I’ll answer every question little Ryan might have.” The vicar squeezes the blonde’s hands before letting go. For a second, Catherine feels cold. But it passes really quickly as Ryan bolts towards her.

“Granny! Come! There are so many comics!” Catherine is delighted at the boy’s excitement.

“Wait, Ryan! Come here for a second. Do you remember when you asked me about your mom and Heaven and God?” Ryan nods. “I told you I didn’t know. Well, if you still want to know the answers, you can ask Jane.” The kid looks at Jane and she nods. “Do you want to?” Ryan looks at his feet for a moment, thinking.

“I do...but…” He starts, clearly upset about something.

“It’s okay, you can tell me.” Catherine insists.

“It makes you sad to talk about my mom…I don’t want to make you sad, Granny.” Ryan whispers. Before Catherine can answer, Jane catches her arm, asking silently if she can take this one. The sergeant nods.

“Would it be better for you if we speak alone? If that’s okay with your granny, she can have a walk around while we talk. Would you be okay with that?” Jane asks. Ryan lifts his head to Catherine. She doesn’t trust her voice not to break with emotion so she simply nods her approval.

“Okay.” Ryan answers, smiling. Catherine envies this capacity children have to jump from one emotion to the next without the tiniest worry. She tells them she’ll take a walk outside and she’ll be back in about half an hour for tea. She kisses Ryan on the head, ruffling his hair affectionately. Catherine captures Jane’s eyes and mouths “Thank you.” She had rarely seen that much kindness in another person’s eyes; Jane’s are filled with it. It makes Catherine’s heart swell and she watches Ryan take the vicar’s hand as they both walk further inside the church, where it’s quieter, and away from prying ears. 

Catherine walks up to a point encompassing almost the entire town. It’s not far from Heptonstall, which is already looking down on Hebden Bridge. But where she stops has a very clear view of it, without trees obscuring the vista. The sun is illuminating the valley. It’s so beautiful, Catherine feels a tight hold around her heart. Everything she’s been through, surrounded by these familiar hills. All of it, the good as well as the worst comes back in waves in her mind. It would be overwhelming. It probably should be. 

But Catherine has had time to think, long and hard about it all. She’s talked about it and voiced everything she had to. Those memories don’t have a grip on her anymore. She realises that the tightness in her chest is the last grasp of their control over her. She closes her eyes and lets the memories flood in, from Becky’s death, to Royce being back, to him beating her up in the basement, from Kirsten’s broken body in the middle of the street to her beating Royce up in that narrowboat. All the bad memories, until the very last one, until the only things left are good. Until she remembers the love she carries for Clare, for Daniel, the love she’ll always have for Becky. But the one that burns brightest is the love she has for Ryan. Then, she takes a deep breath in and exhales all those bad memories as she reopens her eyes. She is done beating herself up for events over which she had absolutely no control. She is done feeling sorry for herself. She is done crying. She wants to live again. She wants to laugh. And she wants to love. 

\----------------

The banging on her door jolts Jane awake. It’s barely past 8 in the evening; she had fallen asleep reading her book on the sofa. Today had been a long day. Too long and too sad. She had been consoling new parents dealing with the death of their premature child. There’s nothing worse than witnessing that kind of particular pain. Jane’s brain is still foggy from sleep. She rubs her eyes in a failed attempt to wake herself up. The banging sounds again.

“You better have sent me an emergency, or we’re gonna have to talk boundaries again.” She grumbles, looking up, pointing an accusatory fingers to the ceiling.

“Took you long enough! I’ve brought champagne!” Catherine is standing in front of her. Jane is mesmerised, eyes suddenly wide open. She is utterly unprepared for the hit of lust flooding her system. Unconsciously, Jane gulps, her throat suddenly very dry. She knew Catherine was a police officer but somehow her useless brain never made the connexion that one day, she might see her in uniform. She’s not in her ordinary uniform; the blonde is dressed up to the nines! The sergeant is impressive in her ceremonial uniform, from the white shirt showing off her black tie, to the ribbon bar and insignias pinned on her jacket. Even the hat, though a bit skewed, is still trying to keep its place on her head. Catherine is definitely a sight for sore eyes. As the vicar’s gaze travels back and forth, she finally notices the bottle in one hand, and two champagne flutes in the other. And judging by how loud her friend is, Jane guesses that she’s had a couple of those before arrival. That, and the rosy tint on her cheeks. The vicar smiles tenderly.

“I see that, Sergeant. I hope you didn’t drive here…” Jane says, as sternly as she can manage.

“...I...I might have been a bad girl…” Catherine answers, whispering her confession and indicating her car in the parking lot. For a brief moment, Jane thinks of a myriad of things she could answer to that. This is an entirely new person in front of her. 

“Okay...come on in, and tell me what we’re celebrating exactly.” Catherine almost trips on her way in. “How many of those have you had already?” Jane asks concerned, catching the blonde in extremis as she falls into her arms. Their sudden closeness makes Jane blush.

“Not that many, Vicar. But the night is young…” Catherine whispers close enough to send shivers down Jane’s spine. The blonde quickly recovers and takes the few steps separating her from the couch. She sets the bottle and glasses on the coffee table before slouching back. “As for what we’re celebrating...they had a surprise welcome back party at the nick. My shift ended but then we had a call, and everybody had to leave after the second drink. Or was it the third? Anyway, I wasn’t done welcoming myself back, and I obviously can’t take alcohol back home to Clare, so here I am. You’re now consorting with a petty thief. You can’t complain without incriminating yourself now…” Jane realises Catherine is more sober than she’d thought. She’s just happily tipsy. Over the span of the three weeks they’ve known each other, and even though sometimes it felt like a lifetime, she had never seen the police officer tipsy. Jane is enjoying seeing her carefree. It suits her.

“We’d better drink the evidence of the crime, then,” the vicar states, as she fills the flutes with the bubbly liquid. “What’s with the dress code?” She adds, faking innocence.

“Mmmh, you like?” Catherine puffs up and looks intently at her, waiting for an answer she already knows. Jane knows she must have noticed her reaction.

“Ah...God gave me eyes, Catherine...So?” Jane tries to redirect the conversation. For a second, she thinks she’d failed. She feels Catherine’s eyes on her, mirroring her earlier gaze. She doesn’t understand why she’s under scrutiny. She remembers that she took her dog collar off as she came in and...oh. A quick self check and she sees that she might have popped one too many buttons from her blouse. She mumbles a “sorry” as she fastens it back. 

“I had a return to work interview with the District Commander…” Catherine says, distracted by her own thoughts: why does she feel the need to reach out and touch that newly revealed naked skin; why is she curious about how it would taste like and how soft it would be under her lips; and why, oh why, is she wondering about the shape of Jane’s body, hidden under that plain shirt. A bit confused as well, but the alcohol isn’t helping, and she doesn’t dwell on that. “So, what should we drink to?” She asks, unpinning her hat and dropping it next to her glass.

“New friends?” Jane proposes.

“And new beginnings!” Catherine adds, offering her glass up so Jane can toast with her.

Before they start their second glass, Catherine has kicked off her shoes and unclipped her tie. Jane watches with rapt attention as she undoes the first, then the second button of her shirt with one hand, as the other is pulling the shirt out of her trousers. The thick black jacket, already opened, is discarded when they pour their third glass. 

By that time, Catherine’s facing Jane on the couch, her feet tucked under her. She’s telling yet another story from work. Jane had no idea so many weird and funny things could happen in such a small town, compared to London that is. Catherine is close enough that Jane thinks it would be so easy to...but no. Her friendship with Catherine means too much to her to risk it over a drunken mistake. Besides, she had no idea where the sergeant’s preferences lie.

While Catherine finishes her story, she notices that Jane is so distracted that she hasn’t realised the sergeant has stopped talking. Catherine takes the moment to observe her and temptation is almost too much to bear; it’s been decades since she’s felt new lips under her own. Catherine’s hand is already reaching for that rebellious strand of hair to tuck back behind Jane’s ear when Jane snaps back into the present. They look into each other’s eyes, Catherine almost challenging Jane to stop the motion. 

Neither makes a move. Catherine’s fingers linger on the shell of Jane’s ear as her eyes move to her lips. In a daze, Jane watches the blonde lick her lips and she thinks about how beautiful she looks like this, not a care in the world, her blouse slightly opened, hair a bit disheveled, and she’s so close...Jane feels warm suddenly. Too warm. She jumps up from the couch, needing to put space between her and Catherine. 

“Right, bottle’s empty. Party’s over. Let’s go to bed!” Jane says, words leaving her mouth before she’s had time to consider them. Catherine smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“And  _ I’m _ the one in need of penance of  _ my  _ sinful thoughts...Tsk Tsk, Vicar. I’m disappointed.” The blonde says, grabbing her car keys on the table.

“What-What are you doing?” Jane asks, ignoring the blatant flirt in front of her. She’s blaming the whole night on alcohol. That’s not how Catherine behaves. She would never flirt with her that openly, would she?

“I’m going home...Unless you have other plans for my penance?” That smug grin will be the end of her, Jane thinks.

“No way, José! You’re texting Clare that you’re here and safe. I’m not letting you take your car in this state! Gimme your keys!” Jane waits, hand open in front of her. She can see Catherine is calculating her next move. Eventually, she drops her keys in the vicar’s hand. “Good girl.” Jane adds, damning the brain cells that thought that was a good idea. Catherine chuckles and yawns.

“Bathroom is still in the same place. The bed is still made. I-uhm...I put the clothes I gave you last time on it. Just in case you came around again…” Jane says softly.

“Thanks...I’ll be off then...Goodnight.” Catherine drops a light kiss on Jane’s cheek and disappears in the stairs. The brunette, for the second time this evening, is stunned into silence. Her fingers reach for the warm spot on her cheek. “Fuck,” she murmurs to herself.

When Catherine’s head finally hits the pillow, she reflects on the evening. Her thoughts, helped by the alcohol in her system, are slowly but surely lulling her towards sleep. Until one realisation crosses her mind. The strength of it forces her to open her eyes too wide for comfort. It’s alarming but reassuring. It’s old but feels new. It’s going to bring a truckload of mess into her life but she can’t bring herself to care.

Sheltered by darkness of the bedroom, with a mixture of trepidation and contentment, Catherine whispers, “ Oh my God, I fancy a priest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from In the Morning  
> This is another day, O Lord. I know not what it will bring forth, but make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be. If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely. If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently. And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly. Make these words more than words, and give me the Spirit of Jesus. Amen.  
> https://gracecathedral.org/prayers-difficult-times/ 
> 
> Hang on, we're almost there... let me know what you think, maybe I'll post faster ;)


	6. Deliver us from a world without justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best to have some kind of story. I'll repeat, I'm not from the UK so I don't exactly know how it works there. Let's just say this is what I picture happening in a perfect world where everything goes smoothly and there never are any bumps in the road.

“ _Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse_ ” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

“There’s a vicar for you in your office! And she’s a pretty one too,” Joyce calls out, as Catherine marches into the nick. She’s annoyed; the community meeting had proven useless, as usual. A bunch of self-important ageing men loving the sound of their own voice but talking about nothing new or of real urgency. Once in a blue moon, one of them had a good idea but most of the time, they had lost touch with the reality on the streets. Catherine had not. And it annoyed her to no end to sit in that overheated room, listening to subjects that had been raised time and time again. She had better things to do to keep on top of everything going on in her patch, so she could keep her officers safe and do a better job of policing in the area.

“What?” Some barely heard words make Catherine stop dead in her tracks. Her annoyance being replaced with sudden excitement laced with a dash of worry. Only one vicar would dare. But why?

“Which part? The vicar? The fact that it’s a she? That she’s pretty or you just forgot the way to your office,” the civilian police employee mocks. She knows Catherine heard her loud and clear. And she’s known the blonde long enough to know her taste in women. Joyce could tell stories, and Catherine is grateful she doesn’t. Not that any of those stories were recent; they all dated back to their training days almost three decades ago. And most could be blamed on too much alcohol and partying.

“How long has she been in there,” the sergeant asks, nervously looking towards her office, then at Joyce, then back towards her office again.

“About ten minutes. Have you been naughty, Catherine?” Joyce inquires bluntly, the implications in her tone making Catherine blush. The rosy tint is almost imperceptible, but the civilian knows her too well.

“Catherine! You...” she starts to berate, hands on her hips, feigning outrage.

“For your own sake, you’d better not finish that sentence. Now excuse me, I have a visitor,” Catherine says with a laugh. Satisfied to see Joyce’s mouth closing comically, she turns and heads to her office.

When the sergeant approaches the door of her office, she takes a moment to look through the glass, observing the woman standing in her professional space. She’s been to Jane’s place of work so many times, but it never occurred to her that one day the vicar would find her way to the nick. Jane is reading the now-framed letter she’d received from the Royal Palace announcing Catherine as the recipient of the Queen’s Police Medal for bravery. She had not wanted to hang it there but the Police District Commander had insisted. It’s not that she doesn’t feel a certain pride regarding the award; she does. Years of service being validated with the highest of honours; it’s something. Unfortunately, seeing it everyday made it impossible for her to forget the reason she got it.

Not wanting to dwell on sad memories, Catherine’s focus diverts to Jane herself. She’d already taken off her coat and the blonde can see the stiffness in the collar of her grey shirt. As usual, the vicar is wearing her jeans and sneakers. Briefly, she wonders if Jane even has any other type of clothing; a dress perhaps, high heels maybe? A soft groan of frustration escapes her when she tries to imagine how those would look on Jane’s already enticing figure. She sighs, reminding herself that she is at work, and pushes the door open.

“Good afternoon, Vicar!” The sudden booming voice makes Jane jump a little.

“Hello, Sarge!” The priest fires back, turning around. To be honest, Jane had expected to see the police woman in her usual dark uniform. Instead, Catherine greets her in her working uniform: long sleeved white shirt with a tie, her fluorescent vest hooked on two fingers and hanging behind her, and that bowler hat emblazoned with police insignia screwed on her head. The memories of the drunken evening they shared a short week before flood back, and Jane feels a familiar warmth spreading within her.

“Hi...I mean...What-Why...What’s up?” Catherine knows she’s usually more eloquent than this. But the last time she saw Jane, she had said things, felt things. And since then, her thoughts had definitely not been PG regarding the clergy woman. And all that comes crashing down in her mind at the precise moment Jane smiles at her.

“So, you’re gonna meet the Queen then?” Jane asks, blatantly ignoring Catherine’s uneasiness, trying to hide her own.

“Yeah, whatever…” the blonde answers dismissively, but her small prideful smile says otherwise. For the first time, Catherine notices that the sight of the dog collar on Jane doesn’t raise her hackles or fill her with dread. “Please, take a seat. Tell me what I can do for you,” she adds, calmer.

“Ah, a loaded question-I...I mean, heavy. Heavy question. I-I’ve been here for nearly two months now and it’s been great but...In London, I was helping. I was doing more than my pastoral duty. And...I guess I need information. I’m here for information.” Jane fidgets with the last button of her light sweater. Catherine bursts into laughter. Out of all the scenarios she had imagined after being told Jane was in her office and now, intel hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d run through assault, robbery and harassment. Hell, she’d even thought Jane was here to tell her to stay away. Why not. But intel?

“That’s it?” she asks, between breaths.

“Y-Yeah?” Jane is lost.

“I thought...I thought you were in trouble for a minute.” Catherine tries to calm down. “What kind of information do you need?” she continues, chucking with quiet amusement.

“Are you done laughing at me,  _ Sergeant _ ? Where has the pride of Hebden Bridge Police gone? Can I talk to her for a minute?” Jane’s stern tone is betrayed by the smile on her face. The brunette absolutely loves watching Catherine laugh, seeing all the tension on her face being released and disappear. Even if she’s the butt of the joke. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Promise. I’m...Okay, tell me,” Catherine finally says, calmly.

“I have asked around but nobody is willing to give me a clear answer. Could you give me information on the street life of the Valley? And I’m from London, spare no details.”

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s nothing to surprise you here. We have all the major problems of a big city; drugs, prostitution, homelessness, and basically everything connected to them. Not enough people; not enough resources. You know the story.” As she explains it, a special kind of tiredness in Catherine’s voice becomes apparent.

“Yes, I know it. I also know I can’t save the world, Catherine, but what support is the most urgently needed, in your opinion?” The sergeant, though not surprised, is impressed by the question.

“What’s your vice, really? I have minors soliciting, I have women refusing to go to shelters because they’re mixed with men and the Council claims they have no money to build a segregated shelter. But maybe if the Councilmen spent a little less time on coke, they’d actually find the damned money. I have prostitutes who can’t take care of themselves because they’re either up to their neck in drugs or being beaten by the subhuman pieces of rotten excrement calling themselves pimps. I have-”

“A lot on your plate. I hear you, Cath. Okay, one thing at a time…” Whatever comes after this is slightly lost on Catherine. Her ears are still ringing from Jane’s use of her shortened name. She hates it when people call her that. But coming from Jane? It seems natural, like she’s been using it for years.

“So? Catherine? Are you listening? Sarge?” Jane’s voice shakes her out of her reverie.

“I’m sorry, you were saying?” Catherine says apologetically.

“Homeless women. I think we could work on that together. What do you think?”

“Uhm yeah, sure. What do you propose?” It takes a second for Catherine to focus again on the conversation. When she does, they end up talking about so many things they completely forget about the time.

“Shit! Fuck! I forgot,” Catherine says frantically. “I need to pick up our Ryan. It’s my turn. Shit, I’m gonna be late! Come with me.” The offer is out before she can think about it. “Yeah, come with me. We can...he’ll be happy to see you. He cannot stop talking about you, actually. Quite annoying in fact! Anyway, come with me. Clare is at home, she works at the Mission Cafe. She can definitely answer some questions.”  _ Good save, Cath _ , she mocks herself.

“Oh...I-uhm...are you sure?” Jane asks while following Catherine on her way out. She notices the saucy wink Joyce makes at the blonde but says nothing. Instead, a stronger shade of pink creeps up her cheeks.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s time for tea. It’s...Thursday, right? We’re having pizza. Your religion allows you pizza, right, Vicar?” Catherine jokes.

“Ah ah ah. Yes it does. But She frowns on people making fun of Her emissaries. We really need to talk about that sinful mouth of yours, Cath.”  _ Oh fuck _ , Jane thinks. “I’ll follow you in my car. Ryan is waiting. Hurry up, Granny!” the brunette says to the gobsmacked blonde, stuck mid-gesture. Had God chosen to strike her on the spot, it would have had the same effect on Catherine. Had she heard that correctly? No. No way. Her mind is playing nasty tricks. Probably wishful thinking. Or rather lustful thinking. The sharp noise of the slapping car door jolts Catherine back to reality. Ryan. Right. Gotta go.

\----------

It had been a while since Ryan had hugged her or Clare when they came to pick him up. So when Ryan all but jumps into Jane’s arms, Catherine scoffs, happy but a little hurt.

“Well, what about me then?” She asks Ryan, then adds to Jane, “What on earth have you been telling him to make him this happy to see you?!” Jane had answered Ryan’s questions about religion the last time they met, and since then, Ryan had seemed happier. Calmer, like all that pent up anger that sometimes blew up inside him had dissipated. Catherine had figured he just needed answers so she had not pushed the issue further.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Sergeant...but that’s between us, right Ryan?” She ruffles the little boy’s hair.

“Yup! Ya having tea with us, right? I’ve been drawing zombies!” Ryan’s excitement is all over his face. And even if that hadn’t been the plan, Catherine would have invited Jane back right then and there. She watches them interact with a peaceful smile on her face, utterly fascinated.

“Zombies?!  Am I one?” Jane asks, smiling gently.

“Of course not! You and Granny kill them! Then the Zombie King founds you and...” Ryan continues

“Finds. Come on, Ryan, you can tell Jane about it when we get home,” Catherine corrects, ushering them back to parking lot.

\-----------

“Aunt Clare! We’ve brung a guest!” Ryan yells as he passes the entrance door.

“BROUGHT,” is heard from deep in the house. As Catherine and Jane follow, Clare shows up from the kitchen. “Oh hello.” She spots Jane’s clerical collar and Catherine sees her tensing up.

“Clare, this is Jane, she’s the vicar at Heptonstall. Jane, this is my sister, Clare.” Catherine stops, waiting for Jane to walk in front of her, one hand indicating Clare as the other finds its place on Jane’s smaller back. The narrow hallway forces a close proximity, and the women suddenly find themselves very aware of the physical presence of other. Clare, observing with rapt attention from the kitchen doorway, doesn’t miss the flutter of her sister’s eyes and the sharp intake of breath. She says nothing and offers Jane her hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you. You’re joining us for tea?”

“Uhm, yes. Thank you for the invitation. Nice to meet you too. Catherine has spoken so much about you,” Jane answers, shaking Clare’s hand in return.

“Does she? I...” Clare is abruptly interrupted by Ryan who grabbed Jane’s hand in his excitement, pulling her towards his bedroom.

“Come on! You of to see me room!”

“Have to,” comes from a chorus of three. Ryan is temporarily caught off guard and stops, as all three women start laughing. He smiles, watching. When the hilarity subsides, Jane is hesitant to follow Ryan. Catherine gives the go ahead and asks her not to mind the mess. Clare watches Catherine watching Jane, as Catherine seems entranced by the sight of Jane walking up the stairs. It’s a look her sister remembers having seen only a few times over the years, and it makes Clare smile.

“So…you’ve brought a vicar home…” Clare observes as she puts an extra mug on the table while Catherine fills the kettle.

“She...uhm...it’s...she wants to talk to you about the Mission.” Catherine mumbles, avoiding her sister’s inquisitive look. Clare stays silent for a moment then simply adds, “Okay.”

A few minutes later, the three women were sitting around the small table. Ryan had taken his pizza and disappeared in front of the telly. He tried to steal Jane away but the priest explained that she needed to talk with his granny and aunt. Neither had ever seen the boy take a refusal so well. When Clare asked what her secret was, it was Catherine who answered that Jane had a magic touch. At that, Jane choked on her tea a little.

“So, our Catherine said you wanted to talk about t’Mission?” Clare asks, changing the subject while not having missed a beat of what had happened in front of her.

“Uhm, yes. When I was in London, I was part of a group that organised a shelter specifically for women. I wanted to recreate that here, or something close to it. Women supporting women, that type of thing. Cath told me you were working at the Mission and you might have more information on what’s going on on the street, particularly for women.” Jane started.

“That’s actually a great idea. But t’Council has been shooting that down for years. See, I have this friend, Helen Gallagher. She’s married to a rich entrepreneur and even his money won’t change their minds. And she’s tried. So many times…” Clare says, defeated.

“Ah, but Helen never had Jane’s tenacity,” Catherine declares, tapping on the back of Jane’s hand to make a point.

“Oh come on, Sarge, you know tenacity better than I do,” Jane counters. “Besides, we could start small and build our way up.”

“What do you mean?” Clare is intrigued.

“I mean, we could start by organising the collection of various products, such as sanitary pads, shower necessities, clothing, food and the like. And with your knowledge of the area, we could organise redistribution,” Jane suggests, full of hope.

“Sounds like the black market, Vicar…” Catherine chuckles. She’s actually liking the idea very much. Women helping women. Maybe this sorry town needs a little bit of hope to pull people out of the gutter.

“I know someone in the police. I’m sure we can work something out.” Jane challenges, sitting back on her chair, crossing her arms on her chest and lifting her chin.

“Bribing an honest police officer, are we?” Catherine mimics Jane’s posture and they hold each other’s gaze for a second before bursting into laughter. Any doubts Clare had on Catherine’s intentions dissolves completely as she follows the exchange. 

“Clare, tell me, do you think it’s possible to…” Catherine lets Jane do the rest of the talking with her sister. Her role in this was to facilitate the meeting. And both women seem to be getting along well.

Clare opens up about her heroin addiction and how she ended up working at the Mission. She tells Jane that she started there doing her required community service. Catherine had had to pull a lot of strings so Clare could avoid going to prison. At the beginning of her non-custodial sentence she was cleaning graffiti and the like. It wasn’t exactly fulfilling, so Catherine talked the Offender Manager into letting Clare try out at the Mission Cafe for a couple of hours a week. On top of the graffiti cleaning, Clare was distributing meals at the Mission Cafe and going to meetings, as well as taking care of Ryan after school. Clare had never been busier, but it also been the most fulfilling time of her life. It had eased her back into being a useful part of society again. She had finally felt like a person, a part of the community.

Eventually, the community service had finished but she hadn’t wanted to stop going to the Mission Cafe. She genuinely liked being part of it and liked how she felt when she helped others, so Clare had stayed on as a volunteer.

“I know I’m not putting bread on the table…but sometimes, money isn’t the only way to get paid, you know,” she tells Jane, who nods simply.

“Damn right! Besides, you’re still recovering…” Catherine starts as she gets up. “It’s part of rebuilding yourself and that’s a full time job already,” she finishes, her arms folding around her sister’s shoulders from behind, kissing her temple tenderly.

“So there’s only one real question in all this; when do we start?” Jane asks when Catherine releases Clare to refill the kettle.

“It’s your idea, Jane.” Clare is a bit confused at the “we” part of the  question.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t clear. I’m requisitioning you on this. There’s no way I can manage by myself and you have all that knowledge already,” Jane answers bluntly.

“I...Wha-I’m...But...You...What?” Clare is dumbfounded.

“I don’t think this idea would become reality without your help, Clare. Will you help me?” Jane cannot be clearer in her intentions as she offers her hand to shake in agreement.

“Yes! I’m just...Yes! Of course!” Clare enthusiastically answers, shaking the vicar’s hand energetically.

Under Catherine’s attentive gaze, they keep talking about various possibilities for their project until they decide on a day to meet and make it more official. The fact that Clare opened up to Jane means a lot to the sergeant. Not that she was some lovesick teenage girl who needed her family approval on a potential love interest, but Clare holds such a key role in her life. And even though it’s still very recent, Jane’s influence on the blonde’s life had been extremely positive. 

That evening, as Catherine prepares to go to bed, her sister makes sure to catch her eyes to tell her one simple thing. “Whenever you’re ready, you may wish to reintroduce Jane as your girlfriend.” The blonde is a bit shocked by Clare’s insight, and she wonders what she must be revealing in her own behaviour for Clare to pick that up. She wants to protest, but picturing Jane as her girlfriend, sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a Sunday meal with them makes her giddy with happiness. Maybe her sixteen-year-old self isn’t buried that deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a prayer For justice  
> Living God, deliver us from a world without justice and a future without mercy;  
> in your mercy, establish justice, and in your justice, remember the mercy revealed to us in Jesus Christ our Lord.  
> Amen.  
> https://www.churchofengland.org/prayer-and-worship/topical-prayers/prayers-world
> 
> I don't know if anyone is actually reading those tiny prayers. Is it helpful? Does it bring anything? How do you feel about them? Should I stop? Let me know about it and leave a comment :D
> 
> Also, just for you curious folks, next chapter is titled "And lead us not into temptation"... I'll let you draw your own conclusions ;)


	7. And lead us not into temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the end to the slowburn?

“ _And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long._ ” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

Jane and Clare had met and their ideas had turned into a fully-fledged project. They had decided that a Wednesday would be the start of it. The two women had prepared a small speech explaining their intentions to the group assembled for the Morning Coffee, and it had been very well received. A few parishioners proposed their help with the collection of items outside of grocery stores; other younger members had put it on Facebook and wanted to meet later to design a proper campaign logo. The support coming from the community was truly heart-warming for Jane, and left Clare flabbergasted. 

When Catherine came home that day, Clare told her everything. The police officer listened intently and smiled tenderly at her sister’s excitement. It had been a long time since Clare had been this enthusiastic about something; something she’d actually had a part in creating. 

As they sat on the sofa watching telly, Ryan comfortingly squished between his granny and auntie, Catherine picked up her phone to send a text to Jane.

_ Hi, I wanted to thank you for bringing Clare into your project. I haven’t seen her this happy since...well way too long. Thank you. I owe you, Vicar ;) _

As she presses send, she grins absentmindedly, reflecting on how Jane’s work title, the same title she once spat out with anger and resentment, has become synonymous with joy and affection, and something she loves calling her friend. Her phone buzzes a minute later.

_ You’re welcome, Sarge. I have an idea of how you can repay me _

For a second, Catherine’s mind goes blank. They’ve been flirting with each other for a while now, but if you’d asked either of them, they’d deny everything. Catherine tells herself it’s harmless but the temptation is growing every time she’s in Jane’s presence. Everytime she hears Jane’s voice, her heart skips a beat; everytime she gazes upon Jane’s face, her stomach flutters. It’s probably all in her filthy mind but it doesn’t stop her thinking about a different type of encounter at night. 

A second text comes up right under the one she is staring at.

_ Come to Sunday service, Cath. Ninety minutes of hearing me talk — so no different than usual. And if you hate it, I’m buying you dinner (sorry the text sent itself before I finished it) _

Catherine chuckles, earning her a shushing sound from Ryan and Clare. She remembers the conversation she’d had with the priest. Jane had been trying to convince her that she wasn’t conducting service like any other clergy member. When Catherine had asked how so, she said that she was preaching in her lace underwear. Obviously, that was a joke but she delivered it with such seriousness it made Catherine furiously blush at the image brought forth in her mind. They had laughed for a good five minutes about various reactions from churchgoers and tried to picture the kind of speech Jane would be given by the Church higher ups. Still the image was now burned in Catherine’s mind. She’d ended that conversation by promising to think about going, which Jane reminded her about every other day.

_ You better prepare a captivating sermon...or bring that lace underwear. I need to be wowed! Otherwise, dinner will be VERY expensive. _

The blonde barely has to wait for the answer.

_ Challenge accepted, Cath. I’ll save your soul from eternal damnation ;) _

Catherine bursts out laughing. The kid next to her scolds her with a “granny” and she gets up to leave the room. Her laughter only does so much to distract her from the thoughts crossing her mind: for 90 minutes, she’ll be able to look at and listen to Jane without being disturbed, much. That has the potential either to be a thrilling experience, or to bring her to her metaphorical knees. 

_ Do your best, Jane. I’m already looking at the menu of the White Lion. Of course, I’m expecting dessert as well.  _

_ Oh Sarge, that’s an entirely different type of IOU _

“Oh shit,” Catherine whispers, breaking the silence in the kitchen.

_ No, I didn’t mean that! Dessert as in part of the menu. The RESTAURANT menu! And I’m the one in need of penance, Vicar? _

The next text seems to take forever to arrive, leaving Catherine nervously nibbling on her own lip.

_ If the lady wants dessert, she shall have dessert. But you’ll be so fascinated by my sermon that I won’t have to pay for dinner. You’ll end up asking me! _

Catherine breathes out. 

_ Sure. Sunday at 10. Bring your best frock. You’ll need it  ;) _

\-----------------

Sunday at 10 o’clock sharp, Catherine sits in a pew, her coat on her lap, fidgeting with the threads of her scarf. Summer is on its way but the morning winds could still bring on a nasty cold. Catherine settles for the third pew from the back — there are only five rows on each side — and she decides to sit right in the middle of the bench as it gives her the best view of the main chair, presumably for the vicar — not too close, not too far — and Jane will definitely notice her while she’s preaching on the small religious stage. Jane is conferring with members of the choir when Catherine arrives. Jane waves at her, beaming, and Catherine waves back, still unsure about her feelings regarding the service to come. The one thing she is sure of is the serenity that Jane brings her. 

The service starts and Catherine lets her thoughts wander: memories of childhood, baptisms, funerals, weddings. Happy and sad, she lets them flow and never dwells. Jane’s voice keeps her grounded in the present. She has to admit it’s pleasant, peaceful, like a train ride: you just get on and let yourself be carried. Seeing Jane officiate is captivating; the woman who sometimes stutters under pressure is radiating confidence. 

Then her mind takes another, expected, direction. She’s used to see Jane dressed in her grey shirt and jeans. And though it suits her personality, it doesn’t exactly do anything for her figure. She has to admit that the black cassock the vicar is wearing does the exact opposite. Catherine is assaulted by a singular question: what is Jane wearing underneath the black fabric? She shakes her head to clear the images of a suddenly empty church in which she can rush towards the vicar, answer her question and take her against the altar. Thoughts definitely not appropriate in a church. She blushes slightly, uncrossing and crossing her legs to ease her discomfort, and forces herself to pay attention to what Jane is actually saying.

“...we must find it in ourselves to forgive those who wronged us just to be able to move on. Not for their sake but for our own. To be able to see beyond the pain, to see the good it might have brought. Because God never send hardship without a balance. She sent the Deluge, but also made sure every life on earth would be preserved…”

Catherine loses the trail again. The words are familiar but they feel new. “ _ Not for their sake but for our own. _ ” Royce immediately comes to mind, as well as that priest who asked her to forgive him. He asked for the wrong reasons at the wrong time. Could she now forgive, so she could move on?

“...Something good can come out of something evil. Because God cannot stand injustice. She gave us free will and some use it to hurt you. They’ll get what’s coming to them; She’ll sort it out. But make room in your heart, let go of those burdens, make peace with your past and you’ll see what good She sent your way to make amends. Don’t let your heart be dark, let the Light of our Lord shine in...”

Catherine thinks about the most evil thing that happened to her: Becky’s death for which Royce is to blame. Did something good come out of it? The answer is as clear as day: Ryan. When Royce came out of prison, she’d been so focused on him, on catching him, on hurting him, that she forgotten. She’d let her own darkness take her, and her relationship with Ryan had suffered for it. The poor kid never know why his granny was so resentful. If none of that had happened, if she’d never met Jane, and Ryan still played on her nerves... Maybe Jane has a point.

She is still lost in her thoughts when the service finishes and the parishioners form a line snaking its way slowly towards the door, every one of them wanting to shake their vicar’s hand. But Catherine remains seated, the weight of her reflection nailing her to the pew. 

Standing by the wooden gates, Jane is communing with her flock, shaking hands, smiling, wishing everybody a happy Sunday. But her thoughts never really leave the blonde she notices is not in the exit line, confounding her expectations that Catherine would be amongst the first to make it out.

“The police woman, she’s here an awful lot, isn’t she?” An elderly woman asks her. She’s the last person in the line.

“Some people need more guidance than others, Greta,” Jane answers, tenderly.

“You know, maybe she’s not here for your guidance, Vicar.” Jane almost chokes at the carefree delivery.

“I-I don’t-what do you-” the brunette stutters.

“Oh come on, I wasn’t born yesterday. We can all see the way she looks at you and how you radiate when she walks in. You make each other smile like a couple of idiots. Love is love, Reverend. Nobody in this community will fight you over this. Not here, I promise you.” Greta’s long speech leaves Jane speechless, gaping like a fish out of the water.

“I-I-What?”

“Ask her to dinner! Oh, you kids, so oblivious,” Greta laughs, shaking her head in disbelief as she walks away.

As the last parishioner leaves the church, Jane locks the heavy door, Greta’s words sink in. Yes, she’d realised her feelings for Catherine a while ago. And every flirtation the sergeant threw her way felt like a cut because the blonde is straight, right? Those words, those looks, surely she doesn’t mean them  _ like that _ , right? Could Greta have seen something Jane had missed?

The vicar walks up the aisle and stops when she spots Catherine, still deep in her own thoughts. Jane can’t pinpoint when her heart had started to flutter whenever the blonde found her way in the church, usually for Morning Coffee or Community Breakfast, but with today’s higher stakes, it has been beating like a drum since dawn. Jane had written a sermon she hoped would ring true for Catherine. Even though she pretends she’s all healed up, Jane can see the pain filling her eyes sometimes. She knows the police officer is still struggling with Royce, especially since her talk with the legal team for the Crown and reliving the events through her testimony.

Repeating how they first met, Jane goes to sit next to Catherine quietly. Only this time, she doesn’t wait for the blonde to start the conversation. They’re past that point.

“What’s troubling you, my child?” she asks, playfully, trying to break the thick atmosphere surrounding her friend.

“Your sermon...it was for me, right?” Catherine’s voice shakes.

“Egotistical much, Sarge?” Jane chuckles, it dies as soon as it comes out. “Yes. It was. Is it bothering you?” she adds, in all seriousness.

“Not...not really. I just...I never thought about things that way.” Jane remembers that other time when Catherine’s voice had felt this small.

“Cath, look at me,” the vicar waits until she does. “You are an amazing woman. You are funny, compassionate, tenacious. You have more courage than I’ll ever dream of. But you have a weight on your soul. I can see it in your eyes. What happened was horrible. But it made you who you are today. You have to make your peace with the past. I’m not saying forget. I’m saying move on. It’s okay to live even if Becky is dead. You aren’t. And you mean so much to...to so many.”

Catherine scoffs gently then Jane smiles at her and she lets herself fall. In one moment, Jane is watching Catherine’s eyes drift down to her lips, and in the next, the blonde is kissing her. It’s pressing but gentle at first, and it takes them both by surprise. 

When Catherine pushes away, a bit shocked by her own actions. Her brain short-circuits when Jane draws her back in, a hand on the back of Catherine’s neck. When the tip of Catherine’s tongue plays on Jane’s upper lip demanding entrance, the tenderness rapidly fades, building into a frenzy, their heavy breathing turning into soft occasional moans. One of the blonde’s hand flies to Jane’s neck, her thumb caressing her cheek, contrasting with the other, more demanding hand, clutching at Jane’s hip, pulling the vicar closer.

A complete slave to her desire, Catherine needs to explore Jane’s skin and her lips trail down to Jane’s neck, kissing her jawline sloppily. The loud desperate moan the vicar lets out when the blonde nips gently at that delicate skin beneath her ear makes Catherine forget about the rest of the world. The only thing that matters is the need to be closer, to touch, to taste. She needs more. Just more. 

Catherine’s lips capture Jane’s once again as the blonde straddles her, pressing against her even more. Instinctively, the brunette’s hands grip Catherine’s hips and pull them towards her. The tips of her fingers slip underneath Catherine’s loose shirt and Catherine sighs heavily when she feels the warmth of Jane’s hands on the naked skin of her lower back. 

Jane takes the opportunity to kiss her way down to Catherine’s neck, encouraged by a hand tangled in her hair, loosening her small ponytail. She sucks at the spot near her collarbone, making the blonde’s hips buck involuntarily, and Catherine’s other hand desperately searches for direct contact. In the fog of her arousal, she wonders why she can’t find the end of that damned shirt, why is it so long.

A loud noise startles them both to a complete stop. When their eyes open to the reality of their situation, there’s a moment of sudden silence, broken only by their heavy breathing. Then realization hits. Catherine’s rosy cheeks turn white and her eyes go wide as she takes in the position they’re in, that  _ she  _ put them in. 

“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” she keeps mumbling as she stands up hastily. She almost trips on her way towards the heavy gates. Jane takes a deep breath, calming herself. Willing the heat down, she follows Catherine. 

“Cath, stop! Wait, please,” she pleads.

“I’m so sorry. I’m going. Sorry.” Catherine is lost in a spiral of emotions. What had she done? Not only did she put her friendship in jeopardy, but she almost...she can’t even say the words in her own head. And in a church, no less.

“Catherine!” Jane says loudly. The name echoes in the empty church. It’s loud enough to stop Catherine in her tracks, obvious tension in her shoulders. A couple of meters separate the two women, both standing still now. Spotting a frame shattered on the ground next to one of the pillars near the entrance, Jane sighs, defeated when Catherine doesn’t turn around. “That door is locked. Follow me, I’ll show you out if that’s what you want,” she adds. Catherine finally faces her but her eyes stay on the floor, but at least she’s stopped apologising. 

“You know that wasn’t a sign from God, right? Just gravity doing its work.” Jane says after a minute of silently walking through the church, trying to lighten the mood.

“What?” The blonde asks, confused. They arrive at the side door. 

“The noise. God wasn’t smiting you for snogging a vicar in a church.” Jane opens the door but doesn’t budge. Catherine has to pass very closely to her in this narrow hallway. And as she levels with her, Jane bars her exit with a quick hand flattening on the wall above her shoulder, right in front of her face. She thinks she knows what’s bothering the sergeant so much. And hell will freeze over before she lets her think she wasn’t 100% okay, more than okay in fact, with what happened. Well, maybe the location was weird, but who never fantasised about sex at the office. Jane searches for Catherine’s blue eyes. 

“You did nothing I didn’t agree with,” she says very seriously before laying a quick but tender kiss on Catherine’s lips. And just as it happened, the vicar’s hand leaves the wall, freeing the way for Catherine to rush out like a thief.

On her way to her car, Catherine’s emotions are overwhelming and her lips are tingling. She had been snogging Jane in the church. Catherine, a Police Officer, might have been caught for public indecency. Her ears burn at the thought of having one of her staff having to file that report and the inquiry following it. But she’s used to shame. It’s been part of her life for such a long time. She knows it comes and goes, and usually the problem lies in what others consider moral. Maybe kissing -  _ yeah right, pal, some kissing all right! _ \- a priest in a church is pushing the line but in the end, that’s all it is.

Catherine’s real issue was spotted by Jane right away: she feared she might have overstepped, crossed a boundary that would shatter their friendship. She fears she might have taken advantage. “You did nothing I didn’t agree with.” Jane’s words are still ringing in her ears as she puts the car into motion. She’s barely out of the parking lot when she’s smiling again: “You did nothing I didn’t agree with,” Jane had said...and she kissed her!

\------------

She’s in the middle of a boring administrative meeting she couldn’t bring herself to pay attention to, when she decides that living with uncertainty is not something with which she feels comfortable. Yes, she fell in love with Jane. There, she’s admitted it. Yes, Jane is a dear friend she’s terrified to lose but she’s even more terrified to pass by something more. Besides, if Jane’s reaction is any indication, Catherine is willing to bet that something is reciprocated: lust or love, and for either of these the police woman is willing to take the gamble. 

It takes Catherine nearly 32 hours to decide she’ll going to the vicarage tonight. About four hours after that decision she’s parking her car in front of Jane’s house. 

“You go, apologise, ask if she wants to have dinner with you, and go home. Easy. Go, apologise, dinner, home. You can do it, you coward,” she repeats to herself like a bad motivational mantra. She knocks and repeats “Go, apologise, dinner, home.” She’s in the middle of “apologise” when Jane opens the door and her brain short-circuits. 

“Hey, Cath,” the brunette says, a smile on her face, leaning against the opened door. She’s back in her grey-ish shirt, jeans, and a messy hairdo — was that a ponytail or a bun? Her shirt is unbuttoned and her dog collar is hanging loose, pulling the fabric further down on one side. Nothing indecent, really. Not for anyone who’d come to seek the counsel of their vicar. But to a certain, now horny, blonde police officer who’d tasted temptation, it looks like the forbidden fruit being handled on a silver platter. Catherine gulps as she wets her lips, eyes traveling from the patch of skin up to Jane’s lips.

“Oh fuck,” she says softly before taking the step separating her from Jane and kissing her, both her hands cupping her face. A bit surprised, Jane takes half a step back before relaxing into the kiss. Aware of their surroundings but never breaking contact, Jane pulls Catherine a full step further inside and slams the door behind them. It makes the blonde jump and her hands leave Jane’s body altogether.

“Hi,” Jane says, smiling like an idiot, looking into the dark eyes and toying with a loose strand of hair. She sounds silly. She doesn’t care. Suddenly, Jane feels more like the hunter than the prey. She feels Catherine’s nervousness radiating from her. 

“You’re okay with this, right?” Catherine needs to ask. But Jane’s hands are already zipping her black uniform jacket down, walking her backwards.

“Why, Sergeant, can’t you tell?” the vicar asks sultrily in return, hands snaking under Catherine’s jacket, reaching her shoulders. Jane pushes her gently against the door and presses herself against her. Her lips are so close, there for the taking, Catherine has problems concentrating, let alone receiving a clear answer. 

“Ju-Just need to...to be sure, ma’am,” she manages to say, smiling weakly. Her blood is thumping in her ears. Her whole body is screaming at her. Her fingers are aching to touch her skin, again. Jane bites her own bottom lip, thinking of a witty remark to come up with, until she decides to stop toying with Catherine’s rollercoaster of emotions.

“Catherine Cawood, you have my consent to —” Jane can’t finish her sentence; Catherine is kissing her fiercely, her tongue already seeking Jane’s, day-old memories mixing with fresh ones. The blonde’s hands temporarily satisfy their hunger by grabbing Jane’s hips. One of Jane’s hand finds its way into her hair, earning her a soft groan as she tightens her grip accidentally, and the other, moving down from her shoulder, closes in on one of Catherine’s breasts. 

This spurs on the blonde.  _ More _ . Damned the taste, she’ll eat the whole fruit. She pushes Jane back only to turn them around and presses the brunette against the door. The vicar holds onto Catherine’s shoulders, hands sometimes fisting on the fabric, sometimes trying to claw it away. 

“Cath…” Jane moans as Catherine’s lips attack her neck, slowly getting to that patch of skin that gave her the most exquisite dreams since she first saw it a few weeks back. When her lips encounters fabric, she stops and stares at her fingers tracing the determined borders, caressing the inside of triangle, as if drawing in it, reveling at the softness. 

“I have dreamt of doing this since...it feels like forever,” Catherine says. Jane doesn’t know if she’s saying it for her or if she’s talking to herself. She only knows that being under Catherine’s intense gaze and hearing the awe in her voice is making her arousal growing faster and her breathing go impossibly heavier. She lets out a frustrated groan when the blonde’s fingers leave her skin. She feels Catherine tugging at her clergy collar, as if testing its resistance. Jane sighs and her hand comes up to pull it out but Catherine stops her by grabbing her wrist and putting her hand back to where it was on her body.

“It seems so easy for you to take it off…” the blonde says, not sure how to ask why that was. Jane seems to understand the silent question.

“It’s just plastic and it makes you uncomfortable,” she answers, gently. 

“It doesn’t anymore,” Catherine confesses. She tugs firmly at the piece of plastic, it comes out easily and she settles it on the desk with care. Then her fingers go to undo another button and Jane stops her this time, flattening Catherine’s hands on her chest and squeezing them slightly.

“I don’t stop being a priest just because it’s not there,” Jane whispers. Catherine realises that Jane has her own set of insecurities as well. She smiles at her tenderly, looking her in the eyes, pouring all the love she can in the silent exchange.

“I know,” she declares simply and kisses Jane. When Catherine’s tongue finally tastes Jane’s again, it feels like the first time. Faintly, she tastes the tea Jane was probably drinking when she arrived. She notices the delicate softness of the lips under hers. Jane’s moan feels like her own. The urgency and the blinding lust might be gone for now but what’s left burns brighter within them. 

Catherine’s shaky fingers manage to undo all the buttons of Jane’s shirt while the brunette is kissing and lightly nipping at the tender skin of her neck. As soon as more flesh is uncovered, Catherine takes back the small control she has in the exchange, which Jane willingly gives her, and she feels the urge to taste every square inch of what’s newly discovered. Catherine’s fingers slide from hips to upper back, caressing here, raking nails there, until they find the clasp of a bra. Catherine lets her hand lie there, waiting. 

Jane’s entire body is pressing Catherine firmly against the wall. When the blonde’s mouth finally closes on one of her breasts, she whines at the feeling of warmth and wetness through the fabric of her bra.

“Catherine…” she pleads, a hand flying to bury itself into blonde hair, pressing the woman closer, as if that were possible. Catherine moans and nips a bit sharper than intended as the hand tightens. Jane almost loses balance under the assault. It feels like a string between her breast and her core was pinched, and that that string was made of pure electricity. 

As Catherine, delighted by the reaction, does it again, Jane groans louder and, as sweet and torturous as it is, she needs to stop Catherine. She needs to stop her because she needs to kiss her, touch her, she needs more than this position, this oh so satisfying position, can offer.

“Cath...p-please...fuck…” she tries but Catherine has latched onto her other breasts, as her free hand is playing with the one her mouth abandoned.

“Yes, dass dee idea,” she replies, her teeth holding the nipple prisoner through the fabric. As her hips jerks, Jane feels how slick she already is. It’s almost uncomfortable, unbearable. And Catherine must have read her mind because she lets her nipple go to lavish the skin of her belly with kisses and nips, dropping on one knee to reach more easily. This allows a bit of a respite during which Jane tries to gather her thoughts and strength. 

“We’re t-to old to shag against a d-door, Ca-Catherine,” Jane pleads as she watches the blonde getting dangerously close to the button of her jeans. If she manages to get that one undone, Jane knows there would be no stopping them anymore. The argument seems to hit a point, and Catherine slows, a single finger hooking behind the button, pulling the fabric a bit lower.

“Are we, now?” she asks seductively, giving her a Cheshire cat smile. Jane is torn between pressing towards the warm mouth and soft lips and pulling away from temptation.

“Fuck! Cath...please...I-I have a-a bed. Comfy bed!” the last words come out strangled as Catherine decided on nipping the sensitive skin afterall. The blonde seems to ponder the plan. A couple seconds later, she kisses the spot that’s already turning red and stands up as smoothly as she can. Jane had a point, they might be too old for this, joints are not as forgiving as they once were.

Face to face with Jane, she can’t resist kissing her again. It’s one of those filthy kisses that leave you breathless and wanting for more. That’s exactly how Jane feels when Catherine puts a stop to it, taking a deep breath to clear her mind.

“Your house, Vicar. Show me the way,” she states, forces herself away from Jane’s body reluctantly. 

“You know exactly where my bedroom is, Sarge.” Jane answers, as she pushes away from the door and makes for the stairs.

“Yes...but I have to investigate…” Catherine answers, enigmatically, following Jane.

“Investigate what?”

“If I dreamt it or if your ass is actually perfect in those jeans,” Catherine explains as plainly as she can. 

Later that evening, when Jane left after deciding they needed fuel and water to keep up with the type of activity they planned to continue, Catherine reaches for the jacket abandoned on the floor to get her phone. She texts Clare that she’ll be back tomorrow for breakfast, that she’s fine and not to worry. The phone dings back almost immediately with Clare’s answer: 

_ There’s more urgent problems on this planet, I think God’s attention is elsewhere atm. Enjoy ;) _

She bursts out into laughter. 

“Everything alright?” Jane asks as she comes into the bedroom to an almost hysterical Catherine. And whether it was leftover nerves or newly acquired endorphins, the blonde stops laughing but a big, contented smile remains on her face. She feels more relaxed and safer than she’s been for years. Nothing can reach her here. Tonight, she feels invincible.

“Yes. Right here, right now, everything is alright.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title (you've probably recognized) is from Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord%27s_Prayer 
> 
> So... what do we think? Should I just stop here? Have you had enough? Cause the next chapter is titled "And forgive us our trespasses" and include someone saying "Take us home, and you can have more"...


	8. And forgive us our trespasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly? Smut... most of it is smut. And I'm not even sorry about it. This is the chapter the tags and rating are for ;)

“ _Kiss me, and you will see how important I am._ ” ― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

Jane is pulled from slumber by a soft ray of light hitting her face. As she moves an arm to hide her eyes from the offensive brightness, she feels the weight of the arm resting on her belly tighten. Memories of the previous night come flooding back and, braving the light, Jane opens her eyes and smiles at the mess of blonde hair on the pillow next to her. She’s lying next to Jane, half her body resting on the brunette’s. Jane now remembers when, or rather how, they had fallen asleep. Their last orgasm had taken all their strength and Catherine had collapsed, avoiding Jane as best as she could but neither women had had the will to move. They shuffled a little to get comfortable, but barely, and they had fallen asleep...just a couple of hours earlier. 

Catherine is slowly emerging from that moment between dreams and reality. The delicate caress on her back pulling her more and more out of her sleep. She doesn’t open her eyes right away, revelling in the gentle touch. Jane hears the change in her breathing but says nothing, content to just hold the woman close.

Rapidly, touch becomes insufficient, as the warmth of Catherine’s body on hers triggers the memory of their passion. The smell of her hair reminds her of Catherine’s taste, nothing she could describe, except it is intrinsically Catherine. Gently, Jane turns them so that she has access to more. 

“Mmh why...I was comfy,” the blonde grumbles. Her protest dies when she feels Jane’s lips on her neck, peppering light kisses, trailing up to Catherine’s ear.

“Want me to stop?” the vicar asks. Jane’s voice is rough from sleep. Catherine whines, hands grabbing at the brunette’s shoulders.

“Don’t even think about it,” she answers, arching her neck to offer more skin to Jane’s ministrations. The brunette nips gently at the dip behind Catherine’s ear. She knows that spot does erotic things to the blonde and on cue she feels hips pushing into hers. She smiles against the skin.

“You’re a terrible vicar...enjoying torturing me like this,” Catherine gasps as a hand cups her breast. Jane hums, too busy tasting the salty skin between Catherine’s breasts. Then she feels the texture change slightly and Catherine tenses. Reluctantly, Jane leaves her skin to look at what she knows caused this tumult of emotions in her lover. On Catherine’s upper belly is a rosy scar starting a couple centimeters below her sternum, descending towards her bellybutton and taking a turn to the left to end a few centimeters further down. It is another constant reminder of Royce, this one written in flesh. The scar itself is healing properly, judging by the rosy tint and the neatness of it. It won’t disappear but it will fade. Jane can only hope the memory linked to it will follow the same path. 

Not wanting to dwell on it, Jane lowers herself and starts kissing the line until she feels Catherine gently pushing her off course.

“Don’t,” she whispers, avoiding Jane’s gaze in what the vicar recognises as shame. Whether it’s shame from bodily imperfection or shame at the memory of being brutally beaten, Jane can’t tell. She just knows that feeling has no place here and now.

“You’re beautiful, Cath. This,” she puts her hand flat on her belly, covering most of the scar, “This is part of you. It makes you who you are now. And I really,  _ really  _ like who you are.” She lowers herself again to resume kissing Catherine’s belly. The blonde gasps; it almost sounds like a sob, but she lets her continue. 

By the time Jane reaches the end of the raised line, Catherine is arching towards her lips. The shame she felt a moment earlier is long gone. Jane repositions her body, one of her thighs is resting between Catherine’s and she’s straddling the other. Not exactly where she wants the vicar to be, but close enough. Jane catches one of the blonde’s hands to bring it above her head and intertwines their fingers while the other reaches down the outside of Catherine’s thigh, down to the bend of her knee, pulling the leg up to close on her hip. The movement brings them closer and Catherine moans when she finally gets the friction she needs. The brunette’s hand traces the thigh again, alternating between raking nails and soft caresses.

Without warning, Jane closes her lips on Catherine’s breast and her tongue plays gently with the hardened bud, making the blonde writhe beneath her. Catherine is completely lost in sensations: the warmth of Jane’s mouth, the maddening pressure on her clit, the delicious nails scraping the sensitive skin of her upper thigh. 

“Oh God…” she whispers, arching for more, forgetting about that one thing of which Jane doesn’t approve. Of course in that moment, it does sound like a prayer. Like a silent plea to the All Mighty. But Jane sees an opportunity and two things happen simultaneously: as Jane’s teeth close sharply on the blonde’s nipple, the hand on her thigh comes down resoundingly to spank the skin beneath it. 

The spark of pain mixed with her arousal makes Catherine cry out and her whole body tenses under pleasure coursing its veins.

“Jane...please…” Catherine pleads, and Jane knows.

“Apologise, Child,” the blonde shudders at Jane’s stern voice. Later, she’ll wonder if she’s always had that vicar-related kink or if that’s something that came with Jane. For now, there are more pressing issues.

“F-forgive me, Fa-Fuck!” Jane’s teeth tightens around the sensitive nipple and Catherine remembers that being called father was not something the vicar liked. “For-Forgive me, Vicar, for I-I have si-sinned,” she breathes out, moaning as teeth releases her and soft tongue soothes. Jane hums her approval, the vibrations sending goosebumps on Catherine’s sensitive skin.

The brunette increases the pressure on Catherine’s clit, letting the blonde rub against her thigh as she desires, while she kisses her way up to her mouth. Morning breath can sod off, she needs to kiss her. So while her lips are occupied, the hand on her upper leg slides towards her sex. When Jane’s fingers feel the curls, she moves her thigh away, earning a whine from the blonde. It’s quickly replaced by a heavy sigh when said fingers start caressing her outer labia, avoiding her burning core. 

“Oh Jane,” Catherine moans before being silenced by Jane’s lips capturing hers fiercely. But the kiss is cut short when the tips of the brunette’s fingers come in contact with Catherine’s silky folds. Gathering some of her wetness, Jane traces her slit up and gently rubs on her clit. Catherine’s hips buck on her hand, needing more to topple over, which Jane gladly gives as she slowly enters two fingers inside her pulsing heat. Catherine’s free hand slides to Jane’s shoulder, either clutching it or leaving red claw marks on it depending on what the fingers pressed inside her were up to. 

Catherine’s orgasm threatens to take her when Jane’s thumb brushes on the sensitive bundle of nerves while her fingers press up on her inner erogenous zone. Jane’s teeth against her neck makes her give in. Jane knows by now that Catherine isn’t the silent type but this is definitely the apotheosis of the passionate night they shared. The vicar is torn between watching with rapt attention as Catherine’s body trembles under her, or feel the tremors of it under her tongue. She opts to watch her lover orgasm, thinking for a second that she wouldn’t mind worshipping Catherine’s body everyday, or at the very least consider this her morning prayers, the blonde’s cries being the most pleasing music to accompany them. 

The brunette gently helps Catherine come down from her high by kissing her softly. When the blonde finally opens her eyes again, she sees Jane closing hers while tasting her lover on her hand. Catherine groans and shudders at how quickly she wants this woman again. But, on the nightstand, an alarm disturbs the moment. Jane reaches it easily and silences it.

“Good morning,” Jane says, chipper, straddling Catherine’s hips and bending down to kiss her. A gentle innocent kiss. The only evidence of their activity from a moment ago being the faint taste of her own arousal Catherine finds on Jane’s lips.

“Good morning, indeed,” she answers, rolling her hips under the brunette, more for her lover’s interest than her own. Swiftly, she reverses their position. Capturing Jane’s hands and holding them above her head, she pins the vicar with the rest of her body. Jane writhes a little, tries to kiss Catherine, attempting to distract her enough to regain the upper hand. But the blonde knows better. She has something to say and Jane is far too distracting. 

“You know, I had something specific in mind when I knocked on your door yesterday evening…” she reveals, eyes roaming on Jane’s body as far as they can see, mouth watering at the idea of sucking a hardened nipple between her lips.

“And none of what we did last night fits? Catherine Cawood, did you come here to cuff me to my bed and hav-oh...” The rest of her sentence is lost when Catherine rolls her hips in a very explicit manner, grinding in all the right places.

“You talk too much, Vicar,” the blonde remarks, smirking.

“Mmmh you like it when I do, though,” Jane claims, sensually. Catherine chuckles.

“Yes, yes I do. Could you just shut up for a second though, I’m trying to be romantic here,” she pleads, with a raised eyebrow. Jane opens her mouth and closes it. “I was saying, I came with a specific goal in mind yesterday.” She waits for a smartass comment that doesn’t come so she continues. “I wanted, still want, to ask you out. On a date. Like a proper date.”

Jane smiles and there’s a second of silence while she looks deep into Catherine’s blue eyes. The brunette frees her hands and buries her fingers in the messy blonde hair, bringing Catherine down to her. 

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Catherine,” she says before she kisses her, trying to convey all the love she feels for the woman on top of her.

\----------------------

Before Catherine left — reluctantly but duty called — they decided on Friday evening for their date. The police woman would text during the week for more details, and well, just, more. 

When Friday finally arrives, Catherine could swear the week had felt twice as long as usual. She’s still surprised that she hadn’t been interrogated when she did the walk of shame back home on Tuesday morning for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Clare had been silently staring and smiling while Catherine had gulped a cup of tea before dashing off to work —yes, she arrived late but considering her night, it was worth it.

And now, here she is, in front of that wooden door, again. Not the kind to spend hours in front of her mirror wondering what to wear, she picked a casual dark grey cotton shirt, similar in colour to Jane’s shirt but that’s an accident really, and a black pair of jeans. She borrowed a pair of short leather boots from Clare. Around her neck she chose to wear a gold-plated metal chain necklace. The pendant, a simple long vertical bar, is sitting low on her neckline. 

The knock on the door is quickly answered and if they were in a cartoon, this would be the moment when Catherine’s jaw hits the floor. Jane, who usually wears jeans and sneakers, is wearing a dress! It’s a black dress with a boat neckline and short sleeves, and the fabric falls gracefully to her knees. She holds a beautiful shawl, once wrapped around her shoulders, now snuggling in the crease of her elbows. Catherine notices the small golden cross pin on the right side of her chest.  _ A more discrete version of her dog collar _ , the blonde thinks, not that she would have minded going out with Jane wearing her clergy collar. And as her gaze keeps traveling down, Catherine absentmindedly licks her lips. The black court shoes enhance Jane’s legs, those same legs that were not long ago wrapped around her waist. The blonde shakes the thoughts away; this is not the time.  _ I definitely underdressed _ , she thinks, before refocusing.

“You look...you...absolutely stunning,” Catherine manages with as much eloquence as she can muster. Jane smiles tenderly back at her.

“You clean up well too, Sarge,” the vicar answers, eyes caressing Catherine’s figure, hands itching to do the same. As her gaze travels up again, she notices the pendant disappearing between Catherine’s breasts and she surprises herself thinking how jealous she suddenly is of a meaningless pendant. However, just as she licks her lips in hunger for the skin beneath the small piece of metal, she feels her hand rising. 

“Shall we?” Catherine says, just in time, offering her arm to Jane in a perfect gentlemanly manner. The brunette, pulled out from her hypnosis, chuckles but takes it nonetheless. The simple touch of Jane’s hand on her skin is enough to send a delicious shiver down Catherine’s spine.

The car ride is short and silent, though not awkward. They arrive at the White Lion and again, Catherine offers her arm, not exactly for the gesture itself but she needs to feel Jane’s touch again. The butterflies in her stomach tend to calm down whenever the brunette touches her.

They’re directed to a table for two in an intimate corner of the dining room. The dimmed lighting and the soft music makes the place effortlessly romantic. 

“Oh Catherine, this place is beautiful!” Jane says as she sits. Catherine has to bite her bottom lip to avoid answering something cheesy along the lines of “ _ not as beautiful as you _ ”. However, her eyes say it for her, in a less cheesy manner.

“You need to stop looking at me like that…” Jane whispers, her cheeks rosing a little.

“Like what?” Catherine asks.

“Like you want to rip this beautiful dress off of me and have me on the nearest table?” The hushed tone makes the words even more delicious and the thought that was absolutely not in Catherine’s mind, has definitely settled in now. Her face reddens and the tips of her ears are burning. She’s about to answer but the waiter comes in to welcome them with the menus.

\----------

The evening passes too fast. They talk about many things: Jane tells Catherine about the advancements she’s made with Clare in their joint project and Catherine tells Jane about her week at the nick. 

One thing leads to another and Jane remembers that comment Greta made, not even a week ago. She meant to ask Catherine about it but forgot: the blonde had heavily distracted her.

“You remember when you came to church last Sunday?” It’s not really a question, Jane knows she remembers so without waiting for an answer she keeps going, “Well, when people were leaving, Greta, an elderly parishioner, came to me and told me that...well she implied that...uhm...my homosexuality would not be an issue. ‘ _ Not here, _ ’ she said.” Jane takes a sip from her wine leaving space for Catherine to comment.

“Did she, now? Ah Greta...you know, she’s the founder of the first LGBT support house in Hebden? Amazing woman,” Catherine says tenderly.

“That’s amazing! I had no idea I had celebrities coming to church. But that doesn’t answer my question. Why did she specify ‘ _ Not here _ ’? She also said to ask you to dinner, which you beat me to, obviously.” Jane chooses to keep the rest of the details of the conversation to herself. The blonde doesn’t need to know that Greta spotted her feelings like a bloodhound. 

“Oh, that! Hebden is considered to be the lesbian capital of the UK…” the police woman states simply. Jane almost chokes on her wine. 

“Beg pardon?” she says between coughs. Catherine laughs out loud. It attracts the annoyed gaze of an elderly couple silently dining at the table behind them but she doesn’t care. 

“Hebden Bridge became known for alternative lifestyles in the 1970s; it started as an arts-based thing. And I guess the tolerance for difference grew, became acceptance, and now gay and lesbian businesses are thriving. We don’t have the exact data but yes, Hebden takes pride in being inclusive to the UK’s LGBT people. I mean…nevermind. I can send you articles about it if you want,” Catherine explained. But Jane feels there’s something she’s not saying.

“In the 1970s you say...where does that leave young Catherine? I know you were married to Richard...don’t tell me I’m the first woman to turn your head,” she asks, smiling.

“Ah, no, you’re not...There’s been a couple...Stephanie, I met before Richard. I was 16, going on 17. She was barely 18. Summer got hot that year is all I’m going to say about it. But we weren’t compatible. We tried for a couple of months to make it work. Winter came and we decided to stop. I met Richard a few months later and married him when I finished school. Roughly twenty-two, twenty-three years later, I’d been divorced for a year, and had a one-year-old at home. I was a mess. Joyce — you’ve met her at the police station — hired a babysitter to take care of our Ryan and she dragged me to Angeliki,” Catherine chuckles at the memory. 

“So you and Joyce?” Jane asks, interested.

“Oh G...uhm...no, no, Joyce is straight, like 100% heterosexual. Not that she doesn’t regret it sometimes. So we’re at Angeliki, some girl-band cover is blasting, and Lindsay comes in. Remember that I was about 40 at the time. She was about 25 and she knew exactly what she wanted. I was pissed, but also flattered. But mostly pissed. Not enough to not remember the night though. And what a night it was, Vicar…” Catherine winks. She sighs longingly at the memory. But before she can dwell further, Jane pulls her back to the present.

“You, cougar! I’m definitely too old for your taste then…” the brunette says, crossing her arms on her chest, pretending to be offended. Catherine considers her for a second then leans as far as she can. With a nod, she invites Jane to meet her halfway.

“You taste delicious, my dear,” Catherine says before kissing Jane’s lips quickly, surprising the vicar. A pang of swift arousal shooting through her veins at the blonde’s words, Jane is also a bit unsettled by the public display of affection but, with a quick look around, she realises that nobody cares. Nobody is even remotely looking towards them. In the room, she notices all kinds of couples: older, younger, sitting next to each other facing friends, she even spots a man sliding a small box under the hand of his partner. The man smiles and nods so hard, Jane swears his head is about to detach. They exchange a kiss and she hears the faint “aww”s from the people sitting closer to them.

Bringing her attention back to their table, she sees Catherine looking intently at her, oblivious to what happened on their left. The blonde’s hand is resting casually on the table. Jane considers it a moment and uncrosses her arms. She reaches for Catherine’s hand and intertwines their fingers. 

\----------------------

As Catherine hails the waiter for the bill, Jane stands up, excusing herself to go to the loo. When she comes back a few minutes later, the bill has yet to arrive so Jane sits down again, finishing the complimentary Amaretto the manager had sent their way. 

Surprised by her own boldness, she slides a closed fist beneath Catherine’s hand. Questioning silently, the blonde feels the hand opening, revealing what her palm identifies as some piece of warm fabric within it. Understanding Jane's need for discretion, she closes her hand around it and brings it to her lap to take a quick look. Catherine’s arousal flares up. She doesn’t have to look long and hard to identify the lace underwear in her hand. Her wide eyes go from it to Jane’s eyes, mouth agape.

“Here you are, ladies. I hope you enjoyed your meal. My colleague will take your payment at the reception. Have a nice evening,” the waiter says, jolly and unaware.

“Oh, he has no idea,” Catherine mutters for Jane’s ears only. She shoves the underwear in her jeans pocket and goes to pay.

\----------------------

It’s a short walk to the parking lot, but Catherine never manages to take her eyes off of Jane’s form, trying to figure out if the knickers burning through her pocket are the real deal. Sifting through every conversation she’s had with the vicar, she can’t remember anything about her being —  _ oh, right _ . She recalls that time when Jane tried to convince her to come to church; their texts full of flirtation. 

By the time they arrive at the car — which they’d abandoned earlier in a dark corner of the parking lot — Catherine’s hands can’t stay still anymore: they need to touch Jane’s body, need to be reminded of the smoothness of her skin, of the warmth between her thighs. 

Jane is the first to arrive at the vehicle, her back to Catherine. She knows the blonde’s eyes haven’t left her; she feels them roaming her body. Knowing that she’s naked under her dress makes her mind go through various scenarios, all ending with Catherine’s fingers buried deep inside her, making her scream with abandon. But they’re in a public parking lot, and going commando is about as far as she’ll go in exhibitionism. She knows she shouldn’t have drunk that Amaretto. Not that she regrets it, no. But with her inhibitions down, exhibitionism doesn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.  

Catherine, for her part, has never been an exhibitionist but the desire she feels for Jane crumples everything she knows about herself. So when she sees the woman reaching the car, ready to turn towards her, she hurries the last steps and presses against Jane, trapping her between the full length of her body and the cold metal of the car.

“Hands on the vehicle, Vicar,” Catherine groans in Jane’s ear, the warmth of her breath tickling the small hair around it. Working with very little space, Jane manages to press back against the blonde as she brings her hands up on the roof. She lets off a heavy sigh, charged with lust when she feels Catherine’s lips closing on her neck.

“What have I d-done, Sergeant?” She asks, the innocence in her voice not matching the dirty motion of her hips. Catherine thanks whoever had the bright idea to not illuminate this parking lot fully, her internal police officer notes to talk to the manager about it. Her hands run up Jane’s arms, slowly getting to her shoulders, when suddenly she moves them to a tight grip on the brunette’s hips. The grinding is too much and Catherine is already feeling her train of thought leaving her.

“Don’t move, ma’am. I suspect you have a deadly weapon on you,” she replies as she bites gently where neck meets shoulder. Jane throws her head back, exposing more of her throat. It’s appealing but Catherine has other plans. The blonde’s hands glide up Jane’s sides, rapidly reaching her breasts but she avoids them at the last second. Instead, as her lips are kissing and nipping their way to the back to her neck, her fingers reach the small zipper at the back of the dress and she slides it down on a good two inches then stops. She feels Jane tensing against her. She all but melts when Catherine’s lips reach that spot between her shoulder blades. She shudders and an explicit whine escapes her.

“Tell me, Vicar,” Catherine’s low voice sending tremors ricocheting within her, “if I were to slide this hand between your thighs,” said hand is moving up and down on Jane’s thigh, playing with the fabric, “how naked would I find you?” Catherine’s fingers are toying with the hem of the skirt, grazing on the delicate skin behind her knee.

“I-you k-know how, Cath,” Jane manages to say. She feels wetness starting to overflow.

“It’s Sarge to you,” Catherine growls, nipping sharply Jane’s back, sending electricity through the brunette’s body. “How wet are you, Jane? Is it dripping down your thighs yet?” the blonde asks, sensually. Jane’s knees almost buckle beneath her and the only thing coming out of her mouth is a desperate moan. She can’t possibly answer that, not with Catherine grinding against her ass, not with her hand tracing patterns on naked skin. Definitely not when the other one has captured one of her breasts, the nail grazing over her aching erect nipple. Jane’s arousal is skyrocketing and if Catherine were to take her here and now, she’s not sure she’d have the will to tell her to stop. If she’s honest with herself, she is seconds away of asking her to take her.

“I want you so badly, Jane,” Catherine whispers in Jane’s ear, almost like a confession. And in a way, it is. Catherine has never wanted anyone that much, not even Richard at the beginning of their relationship. The gentle admission brings some sense in Jane’s lustful brain; Catherine has shifted the dynamic in a handful of words.

“Let’s go home. Now. Please,” Jane begs, arousal still tight in her body. She doesn’t know if she should rejoice at the thought of heading to the privacy of her house or be sad at the feeling of Catherine’s warmth leaving her. Jane is unable to move right away, not trusting her legs to carry her fully. She feels the blonde dropping a kiss on her back before zipping her up. She’s not far, Jane can still feel heat radiating from her. She turns and there are the dark blue eyes she loves to get lost in.

Hands on her own hips, breathing heavily, Catherine is standing at what she considers a safe distance from Jane. 

“Get in the car, please,” she pleads, almost desperately. 

“What, you’re not going to hold the door for me? Where are your manners, Cath?” Jane is playing with fire, and she knows it. She just can’t help herself. She sees Catherine give her a cheshire cat smile as she takes the steps towards her. Again, Jane is trapped against the car, one strong arm on each side, Catherine’s face so close to her own she can smell the coffee on her breath.

“For an emissary of God, you feel like sin incarnated, Vicar. Look at me, I can’t resist you,” she tells Jane, looking her straight in the eyes, “Please, get in the car so I can touch you with less risks of losing my job,” Catherine adds, with a sigh.

Without breaking eye contact, hypnotised by the desire in her lover’s eyes, Jane fumbles for the door handle. Catherine lifts her arms to allow her to move into the car, slams the door behind her and moves to the driver’s side. Both women are now sitting next to each other, looking straight in front of them, breathing heavily. Both waiting for the light to go down. Both wondering where  _ that  _ came from. 

The light finally fades out. Heads turn to each other. Have they lost the momentum? For all her words, Catherine feels suddenly shy, not daring to be bold anymore. What happens next is in Jane’s lovely hands. 

And speaking of, one of them is sliding up the blonde’s left arm to her neck, inviting her towards her. When lips collide, they both know they’re done for. As the kiss gets deeper and dirtier, Jane’s other hand reaches for Catherine’s right hand. The steering wheel in front of the blonde is slightly in the way but she manages to turn towards the vicar anyway.

Catherine breaks the kiss when her guided hand comes in contact with smooth warm skin. Breathing heavily, she sees her hand being pushed beneath the fabric and higher on silky thigh. A quick look at Jane and she sees a vision of sin: her head is thrown against the seat, eyes closed, mouth opened on a moan, one hand disappearing beneath her slightly hiked up skirt, the other gripping the headrest behind her. 

“Let go,” Catherine whispers to her ear and the fingers around her wrist uncurl to grip the seat cushion. 

Caressing the warm skin, Catherine slides higher and higher, listening to Jane’s breathing accelerate ever so slightly with every inch gained. It’s not long before warm turns into hot. The tips of Catherine’s fingers reach their aim and Jane moans loudly as she starts exploring the slick delicate skin of her sex, avoiding the places she knows Jane needs her most.

“Please, Cath,” Jane begs, hips trying to grind against the faint pressure.

“Please what, love?” Catherine replies, face buried in the brunette’s neck, fingers now circling her entrance, enjoying how thoroughly drenched it feels. She takes pride at being the cause of it, or at least having played a crucial role in it.

“Please...fuck me,” the vicar breathes out. Catherine doesn’t have to be asked twice and pushes two fingers easily into her, pressing her thumb on her clit. The very little room doesn’t really allow Jane to move. Frustrated, she lifts her hips and yanks her skirt higher, spreading her leg a little wider, inviting Catherine deeper inside her. One of the brunette’s hands grabs Catherine’s shoulder in a tight grip as the other snakes into the blonde hair, bringing lips within reach. Catherine accidentally nips her bottom lip when the hand in her hair closes into a fist.

It doesn’t take long before Jane’s body arches and her moans turn into a scream as she comes on Catherine’s hand. When she comes down from her high, Catherine pulls her fingers out as gently as she can, smiling at the soft whine coming from her lover. She knows the feeling of emptiness she created. The blonde marvels at her glistening fingers for a second, her own arousal tightening her core and making her clit throb. Without thinking, she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks them clean, for a second regretting that their location doesn’t allow her to drop to her knees and lick Jane clean as well. 

“Take us home, and you can have more,” Jane tells her in a voice raw with lust. Catherine smiles.  _ Not too old to shag in cars after all, eh Catherine _ , she thinks to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord%27s_Prayer 
> 
> Soooo...what do we think? Please let me know if that was any good for you.
> 
> Next chapter is the epilogue, peeps. Sorry but this story is coming to an end.


	9. To bind together and to heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank you to my beta reader KatieDingo. I've thanked you lots before, but once more isn't going to hurt. Thank you! <3 Working with you has been awesome!
> 
> Let's wrap this up, shall we?

“ _What did my arms do before they held you?_ ” - Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

As Catherine parks her car, she sees the first parishioners leaving the church. She smiles as she takes a quick look at the time; Jane is finishing just a bit earlier today. The blonde has been picking the vicar up every Sunday for a month now. They’ve been on picnics on sunny days and visited monuments on rainy ones. Jane had come out of her service at exactly the same time on previous Sundays, so today is special. Today, Jane is coming home with Catherine. It is finally time for Catherine to reintroduce Jane as her girlfriend, as Clare put it.

Knowing how to avoid the crowd of parishioners, the police officer opts to enter the church by the side entrance, a path she now knows well. The memory of the first time she walked through that ordinary wooden door makes her smile: the first time she’d kissed Jane.

She peeks into the nave and notices the first part is empty, as everyone is standing in line at the back of the church, waiting to shake hands with their favorite vicar. Catherine decides to enjoy the emptiness of this beautiful sanctuary. She sits on the first pew, closest to the choir stalls and maybe for the first time, she truly examines the architecture. She notices the size of the each stone falling under her gaze, the marks the chisels left on them. She enjoys the light coming through the beautiful stained-glass windows, each telling a story of their own. And finally, as she slouches slightly, her head gently falling backwards, she looks at the sheer height of the ceiling and imagines the master builders who managed all this without any of the modern equipment we take for granted today. 

A loud noise pulls Catherine out of her reverie, recognising the cacophony as the closing of the main door. A soft warmth of excitement settles in the pit of her stomach when she hears the subtle tap of Jane’s sneakers on the ancient stone floor. She doesn’t move but stares intently at the arches of the ceiling, prefering to let Jane approach her.

The vicar is not at all surprised to see the blonde sitting there, enjoying the cool interior of the church rather than risking the magnified heat of the inside of a parked car. On her way to Catherine, Jane considers her options of approach. She could simply pass by and change out of the heavy cassock. Or she could sit next to Catherine and kiss her on the cheek. But today, as silly as it sounds for a 47 year old woman, marks the one-month anniversary of their first kiss. And oh, how the memory of it clings to Jane’s senses. Right there, on the pew she just passed, Catherine kissed her. The memory of it directs her decision.

As Jane reaches the front row, Catherine’s head turns and, even though Jane knows the expression by heart, seeing Catherine smiling tenderly at her still makes her heart skip a beat. The brunette approaches swiftly and doesn’t wait for permission as she bends to deposit a quick kiss on Catherine’s lips.

“Good morning,” the blonde says lovingly.

“A very good morning, indeed. Do you remember, a month ago…?” Jane lets Catherine fill the blanks in the question as one hand slightly gathers the fabric of her cassock and the other forces the blonde to uncross her legs. 

“Yes...what are you do-oh!” Catherine doesn’t have time to finish her question because Jane is settling onto her lap, straddling her and pressing her chest against the blonde’s. The height difference forces Catherine to let her head fall backwards. She sighs, contented, when Jane buries her fingers in her hair. 

“I’ve thoroughly locked the doors, Cath,” Jane whispers against Catherine’s ear before she starts kissing her neck. She smiles against her skin when she feels the blonde’s hands snake under the hem of her clergy attire. 

“Jane...quick question…” Catherine asks, confused but temporally distracted by Jane sucking on a particularly erogenous spot on her neck. She lets it go with a pop and faces Catherine.

“Yes?” she says, innocently, then leans down again to the other side of her neck.

“Are you wearing shorts?” the police woman asks after a deep, steadying breath. She caresses the smooth naked calves she’s found under the black heavy fabric, wondering how high up Jane’s thighs the bare skin reaches. The subtle grinding of Jane’s hips on her lap makes Catherine lose her train of thought again.

“Not today, no. Why?” the vicar answers, smiling against skin. She feels Catherine’s palms sliding higher on her legs, passing her knees and moving up her thighs. Just as her hands rise on Jane’s naked skin, colour rises on Catherine’s cheeks, until realisation hits and the sergeant’s mouth opens on a silent  _ oh _ .

“Told you I preach in lace underwear, didn’t I?” she murmurs against her lips before claiming them with her own. As Jane deepens the kiss, she feels Catherine’s hands grabbing her hips firmly to pull them tighter against her. 

“Now, now, Officer, I don’t want to be late for dinner,” Jane adds, lacking conviction as her sentence ends on a lustful sigh when she feels Catherine’s delicate fingers teasing the skin under the edge of the lace panties. 

“Oh, you want me to stop?” the blonde asks teasingly. Jane’s hand in her hair tightens into a fist as the other lowers to Catherine’s shoulder to steady herself. The brunette groans in protest as she feels the hand between her legs slowly moving away.

“No,” she whines, hips bucking, searching for more, “please…” she begs. Jane moans as Catherine pushes her hand back under the fabric of her wet underwear, her fingers teasing her clit just enough to make her press further against them.

“You’re so beautiful when you beg,” Catherine whispers. She pulls her other hand from under the cassock to bring Jane’s lips to hers. The brunette breaks the ardent kiss as she feels Catherine’s fingers entering her gently. 

It doesn’t take long for Jane’s moans to turn into cries of passion when Catherine’s thumb rubs her clit. Her other hand closing on her hip, spurring the movement on until Jane, lost in her desire, fucks herself on Catherine’s fingers. Soon after, Jane’s body tenses, her orgasm electrifying all her nerve endings. 

Catherine watches Jane with rapt attention, forgetting about her own arousal for a moment. When Jane slumps against her, Catherine withdraws her hand as gently as she can.

“Happy one month,” Catherine murmurs to Jane’s ear and she kisses the side of her head tenderly. 

“You’re so cheesy for a hardarse police woman,” Jane chuckles lazily, “happy one month, Cath,” she adds, kissing her cheek just as sweetly.

“Come on, we gotta go. Our Clare is gonna worry,” the blonde says, trying to sit up straighter. Jane’s smile disappears as she tries to stand up.

“We shouldn’t do that again. We’re too old to shag on benches,” she winces under the protests of her knees.

“Who started it, eh?” Catherine argues but helps Jane to stay upright. When they come face to face again, they pause for a second, allowing themselves a moment of quiet separation from the world. Jane cups Catherine’s face with her hands and, as she loses herself in the beautiful blue eyes, she realises that it is too soon for the words on the tip of her tongue to be spoken. So instead, she conveys them in a kiss.

\---------

“It’s a 5 minute car ride, how do you manage to be 35 minutes late?!” Clare shouts from the kitchen when she hears the front door close. When she pops out to the hallway to greet Jane, she laughs at her sister’s blushing face, “Never mind. I don’t wanna know. Come on, get in then.” She attempts to playfully whip Catherine with her teatowel but the blonde is too fast and knows her sister too well, and manages to avoid the flying fabric. She makes a face and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Clare with Jane. “Hello, Jane.” 

“Hi, Clare. Sorry about...” Jane starts, but Clare gestures that it’s no trouble.

“Oh Clare, you’ve outdone yourself! It looks delicious!” the vicar exclaims when she sees all the food covering the small kitchen table. 

“We have things to celebrate,” Clare says, winking at Jane. Catherine frowns, her detective instincts kicking in and immediately a myriad of questions crosses her mind. “Ryan! Come down. Jane’s here,” Clare yells at the bottom of the stairs. There is an immediate response of thundering thunder of footsteps coming down the stairs. Jane barely has time to steady herself before the kid launches himself into a hug, jumpy with excitement. 

“Hey, kid. How’s your zombie story?” Jane asks, laughing at Ryan’s greeting. She should be used to it by now but it still surprises her. 

Leaning against the kitchen sink, Catherine watches the exchange. They had decided to tell Ryan about their relationship today. Catherine had told Clare about a week after the day she took the walk of shame. It’s not as if her sister hadn’t figured it out already but Catherine hadn’t been able to keep the secret any longer. She had to tell someone and she figured Clare would be less prone to gossip than Joyce. The idea to wait a bit before announcing it to Ryan had come from her. They took the time to explain things about relationships and love. When Catherine had explained that she once felt the same feelings she once had for his grandpa for another woman, the boy barely reacted. He said that one of his friends had two moms. He followed that statement with a request for more chips.

“Hey, Ryan, sit a minute. We have something to tell you,” Catherine says as she pulls out a chair. Ryan, Jane and Clare do the same, Jane sitting on Catherine’s right, Ryan on her left. “Do you remember when we talked about relationships?”

“Are you and Jane in one?” Ryan’s question takes Catherine aback a bit. She had prepared a whole speech. Instead, she looks down and chuckles, realising she should have anticipated that reaction from her bright grandchild. She smiles and takes Jane’s hand in hers and rests them on the table. Their eyes meet for a moment before Catherine looks at Ryan.

“Yes. How do you feel about it?” The blonde knows the answer before she has even asked the question. Ryan’s bright smile is proof enough that he feels perfectly happy about it.

“Does it mean we can go to the church more?” the boy asks, in a tone of voice Catherine recognizes well: this question is hiding something.

“Uhm, if you want, yes,” Catherine is now suspicious.

“Cool! There are comics I haven’t read yet!” Ryan says in all seriousness. “Can we eat now?” he adds and the three women laugh. 

Clare starts passing around dishes of food from the table. Jane entertains Ryan with a discussion about some comic book hero having a parasite that Catherine doesn’t know. Jane squeezes Catherine’s hand before letting go to grab the bowl Clare is handing her. 

Catherine, however, lets her mind wander thinking about Becky, about Richard and Daniel. What would be their reactions to Jane? She’s about to be a grandmother again and she doesn’t want to jeopardize her recently mended relationship with her son. She should prepare for some form of backlash at work too, with her working in a still very patriarchal environment. All those questions are crossing her mind when the blonde feels a sneaker rubbing against the fabric of the trousers covering her calf, a gesture silently asking, “Where have you gone to; come back to me?” And as usual, Jane brings Catherine back to the present. Jane looks at her tenderly, thinking about how much this woman has changed her life in the span of a couple of months. She wishes she could she could kiss her, right here, right now. Then she realises she can. So she does.

\--------------

The afternoon passes too fast. While Ryan is busy making a pancake tower, Clare announces that she received a phone call from the Townhall. Their project Women Helping Women is to receive funding. It’s not a huge amount of money but it will help them to get started. They only have to fill in a few forms to make things more official and they should be up and running. Jane and Catherine give a hooray to a blushing but proud Clare, who is to become the president of their association. 

When they finally stop eating, Ryan brings a few boardgames downstairs for them to play. The game of Twister almost gets out of hand when Clare threatens to fall flat on Ryan if he takes  _ that  _ red spot which, of course, he does so they switch to Monopoly. This leads Ryan and Jane into a battle for Mayfair when Catherine and Clare become bankrupt. And the rest of the day is pretty much the same: food and play. 

At one point, Clare pulls Catherine to the side. “She makes you happy, doesn’t she?” Clare asks. Catherine smiles and nods. “Then Becky would approve,” she adds simply, before leaving her sister to her own thoughts. Catherine doesn’t have time to dwell on the fact that Clare always seems to know what to say and when to say it; Ryan is calling for his granny to come and rescue him from a tickle fight started by none other than...Jane, of course.

“I’m off duty, mate, you’re on your own,” she chuckles. “I’m gonna finish the pudding though, since nobody minds,” she continues, knowing full well both Jane and Ryan loved said pudding and each claimed the last of it. The threat seems to work since they both ticklers stand upright instantly, protesting loudly.

\------------

When the time for bed arrives, Catherine and Jane stand in front of the blonde’s queen-sized bed, both a bit nervous. This is the first time Jane will be spending the night in her lover’s bed. They haven’t slept together since their first night, and the night after their dinner at the restaurant — just sleeping, that is. Schedules had been cleared for other things instead.

So the question at hand is terrifying for them both. It is crossing a line of intimacy that even sex doesn’t dare to navigate. Catherine is the first to find the courage to ask.

“So...which side do you sleep on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from A prayer for family life  
> God of compassion, whose Son Jesus Christ, the child of Mary, shared the life of a home in Nazareth, and on the cross drew the whole human family to himself:  
> strengthen us in our daily living that in joy and in sorrow we may know the power of your presence to bind together and to heal;  
> through Jesus Christ our Lord.  
> Amen.  
> https://www.churchofengland.org/prayer-and-worship/topical-prayers/prayers-family-life-and-children
> 
> Here it is. The end. I'd never ever thought I could write so much. I know it's far from perfect, but this has taken me a lot of time and research (yes, I know it doesn't feel like it but I have an explanation for everything that happens in there). If by any chance you're reading those lines, dear Reader, I thank you from the bottom on my cold dark heart for staying with me this long. I hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit. 
> 
> We're leaving Catherine approximately 14-15 months before season 2 starts. Whatever happens between her and Jane, I leave to your imagination. Or maybe I'll write it, one day. Who knows. Should I?


End file.
